hii! can u do like y/n is dating hoshi but she is a fan of other member but hoshi didn’t care bcs he’s confident that he can keep his woman (pls tell me u saw the interview) smut would be awesome too. but only if u are comfortable with this request ofc!! thank you again and sorry for troubling u!!
a/n: I know EXACTLY what interview you’re talking about LMFAOOOO thank you for this idea
keep my woman. (kwon soonyoung x reader)
word count: 1.5k
warnings: mentions of jealousy, smut, nsfw, oral (male receiving), dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, some degradation
Soonyoung might look like the jealous and possessive type, and truthfully, he was that jealous and possessive type in previous relationships, but he really doesn’t feel it with you. It surprises his members, especially Seungkwan, who has witnessed Soonyoung’s bad mood many times before this when his girlfriends ended up admiring someone else, like Jeonghan or Mingyu, more than him, making him feel second in his own relationship.
So when you tell the boys while having dinner with them that your bias in Seventeen is Seungcheol, they all fully expect Soonyoung to get annoyed, maybe even a little whiney and grumbly, but it doesn’t happen. In fact, he doesn’t even flinch. He’s completely laid back about it, one leg crossed over the other, arm draped over the back of your chair as you talk about how you admire Seungcheol as Seventeen’s leader. Dokyeom narrows his eyes at Soonyoung, but he doesn’t react. He just lets you yap on and on, unfazed. Undisturbed.
They don’t know the reason he’s so nonchalant about it. But they don’t need to know.
When you get home that night, and he has you kneeling in front of the couch, fingers entangled in your hair and pretty pink lips wrapped around his throbbing cock, Soonyoung fleetingly remembers Seungkwan’s words as they were leaving the restaurant.
“It’s very mature, hyung. I’m proud of you.”
It’s not maturity, Soonyoung wants to scoff. It’s this sight right here, the way you look at him with teary eyes full of adoration and reverence, bordering on worship. The way you relax your throat around him so he can shove your face down as much as he wants, fighting your gag reflex because you love his cock in your mouth so much. Who cares who your favorite member is when you’re so willing to get on your knees and let him use your mouth however he pleases?
When he tugs you off his cock, you gulp in a long, torn breath. You blink furiously to clear your eyes, wide and admiring as you watch him. You lick your lips and open your mouth again, sticking your tongue out, waiting for more of him. He groans.
“Little slut.” He grits out, pulling your head forward again so you can swirl your tongue around his flushed and leaking head. You swallow his precum like it’s a reward. Soonyoung feels dizzy with pride. He leans forward so his nose nudges against yours, foreheads pressed together, still holding you by the hair tightly. You try to push forward, whining in complaint when you’re unable to kiss him, but Soonyoung only grins.
“Tell me how bad you want me.”
And you do, because you’ve never shied away from it. You are shameless when it comes to praising him, unfiltered as you talk about how he’s the only man for you. If the members had spent less time focusing on his behavior and more time actually listening to you, they would be able to tell that it doesn’t matter who her bias is, she loves him miles above anyone else.
Soonyoung hums as you babble on, partially mindless already after the good face fucking he just gave you. He doesn’t have to touch you to know that you’ve already soaked through your panties, the black lacey number he had you put on before dinner because he intended on peeling the wet, ruined cloth off you when you got back.
“What do you want more, baby? My cock in your mouth or my cock in your pussy?”
He nearly coos when he sees your hesitation, the fight in your eyes. He loves how cock drunk you are, how much you love sucking him off. You could do it for hours, you have done it for hours. But he also knows that your pussy is weeping, clenching around nothing right now and so desperate to be filled. So finally, when you don’t respond, he makes the decision for you.
He lifts you up with a tight grip on your waist, tugging you over his lower half. He pushes your dress up until it bundles around your hips. As he expected, you’re wetter than anything, thighs already trembling a little with anticipation. If there’s one thing you love more than stuffing your face with Soonyoung’s cock, it’s stuffing your pussy full of him. And Soonyoung can see it now, the way your jaw goes slack and your eyes roll up when he pushes your panties to the side and sinks himself deep inside you, pulling you down until your pelvis is flush against him. You moan, so loud and pornographic that Soonyoung is almost afraid it will bleed through the walls and alert the neighbors of your activities. A part of him doesn’t care though.
He runs soothing hands over your twitching thighs, bites his lip at the feeling of your warm, gummy walls fluttering around him. He will never get used to this, to how tight you are, how he has to struggle to carve a way inside you because of how hard you clench around him. Or that look on your face, flushed and sweaty, as you try to get used to the intrusion. You’re a vision on top of him, and Soonyoung thanks the gods for his stamina and self control because he could bust immediately just looking at your face right now.
Instead, he leans back and sighs, tapping your hip with his index and middle finger.
“Come on, baby. Take what you need.”
This is his favorite way to watch you, on top of him, doing all the work as you desperately attempt to get yourself off by using his cock. It’s cute how bad you are at it, whimpering and tearing up when you just can’t seem to knock the head of his cock against your sweet spot. It reminds him that only he can truly satisfy you the way your body craves, even you can’t do it. It has to come from him. The surge of power makes his head spin a little, watching you struggle like this. He feels kind of sick about it, but it’s so hot that he can’t help himself.
It takes only a few minutes before you’re sobbing and begging him to take over. Tears now slip down your cheeks, adding to this beautiful, lustful, depraved image of you. Soonyoung palms at your ass, encourages you to keep rocking back and forth.
“What’s wrong?” He croons. “What is it, honey?”
He knows exactly what it is, can feel how badly you want to just get pounded and fucked, but he loves seeing you try and vocalize it, struggling to talk through the fog in your head.
“Please-” You choke out, voice high and shaky. You paw and claw at his chest, fisting his shirt between your hands. “Soonie, please.”
He wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you flush against his draped form. It immobilises you, and he plants a chaste kiss on your lips, soft and caring.
“It’s okay, my baby. Relax.”
You sigh into him, and pressed up against you like this, Soonyoung can feel how badly your body is trembling. He starts to feel a bit bad, but no matter. He’s about to make it up to you big time.
With his grip on you tight and his legs spread enough to plant his feet firmly on the floor, Soonyoung finally starts thrusting up, setting a furious pace immediately that has you gasping and moaning in satisfaction. He holds you in place with one strong arm, freeing his other hand to reach up and brush over your heated, wet face. He wipes your tears away, pushes your sweaty, damp hair back, whispers in your ear about how hot you are, how pliant and willing for him, taking his cock like a good girl. You whimper and cry more, and Soonyoung licks away the fresh tears. You clench harder and harder, twitching in his hold, and he knows you’re close.
When you come around him, it drives him crazy with need. You’re soaking his cock just the way he likes it, wet, sticky, filthy, running down his balls until he’s sure you’re ruining the couch too, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when you squeeze so sinfully around him that his own orgasm hits him like a train, muscles seizing as he dumps load after load of his cum inside your squelching pussy. He holds you close, both of your chests heaving as you catch your breaths. He can feel you plant little kisses over his cheeks and his neck. He can’t help but grin.
When he undulates his hips up into you, you gasp. Your eyes widen when you realise he hasn’t gone down at all, still throbbing hard, making the mess between your legs even worse. Soonyoung’s smirk is near devilish. You’re already whimpering and meeting his movements.
He knows he has absolutely nothing to worry about.
very little to do with the climate when it comes to how Soonyoung makes you feel.
wc: 2k | contains: fiance!soonyoung x reader (hehe), fluff, suggestive (minors dni), hali furry son appearance, hoshi thinking croissants are easy
[a/n]: ITS STILL HALI BIRTH IN MY BRAIN THEREFORE IM NOT ACTUALLY LATE AT ALL anyways halison you know how much I love u so I won't go into it but pls enjoy this little piece of my heart for u. I hope it's comforting to think about on days it's all spilling over. I hope you have the bestest year ahead and know that u deserve the entire world and more 🖤 @sailorsoons and bigbigbig thank you to @starlightkyeom my beacon of light for beta-ing for meeee <333
masterlist
At times you wonder if your affiliation with the nicer things in life was really worth all the medieval torture that is the current corporate world.
But then again, you find yourself complaining just a tad less when you can remain on the plush of your couch on a weekday, the warmest socks on your feet and a haphazardly thrown blanket over your lap. Your laptop warms your thighs from the consistent use, the busy screen making sure you still have one foot at work.
You sink impossibly lower into the cushions, making sure to preserve the indent when you eventually get up. December is making itself known inside your house, while not entirely sweater weather, the overbearing festivities that litter the household are hard to miss.
Three red stockings hang from the small ledge off the wall, fairy lights strung and taped in a fashion you think was meant to be uniform. A wreath, a quite obnoxious one at that, and sporadic appearances of mistletoe you believe might just be droppings from the wreath, tied with glittery ribbon and pasted all over the apartment.
The perpetrator of the entire scheme sits on the floor next to you, caged beside your legs that rest on the coffee table. Soonyoung is determined to not bother you, continuing to sit cross legged as your dog prances in his vicinity with a sprawl of toys and an eagerness to play. Atlas is jumping and pouncing into your fiance's lap at random intervals, very interested in grabbing at Soonyoung's hands and making his usual grunting noises.
The ding on your laptop tears your attention away from the pair, but you only glance at the notification. Soonyoung's hair is a freshly dyed black, giving the illusion of a shine in the living rooms lights, but only you see the stains of the dark dye on his pillowcase. He shakes his head playfully at the zippy dog, the loose curls of his perm shaking at the movement. His hair's gotten longer in the past months, coiling past his brows and into his eyes. Just the way you like.
Accusingly, the glare of your laptop screen remains ever present in your periphery. Ignoring it is easy. Instinct is having your fingers and palm itch to dip into his curls and drag your nails across his scalp. In fairness, you just want his attention, so you give in as your left hand grazes over the nape of his neck, lazily dragging your fingers up towards his hair.
The ring on your finger shimmers like a million gems when it catches the light, before promptly disappearing under the strands of your fiance's hair. Soonyoungs body responds before he can vocalise it, the soft dig of nails in his skin, the way his hair bunches between your fingers. His head relaxes into your palm, melting backwards into the couch cushions.
His head lolls back to rest against the seat, your fingers now scratching lightly at the crown of his head. Decades will go by, and the little being in your stomach will forever and always lurch at the sight of him. Soonyoung sports a lazy smile, a ridiculously relaxed look on his face as he stares up at you like you like you were already standing at the altar.
"Hi," he says, the same dopey grin on his face and a grit to his voice.
"Hi," you whisper back.
"Are you done?" he asks, while the small dog on his lap bounces up with paws on his chest, trying his darnedest to get his attention back to what really mattered (big squeaky chew toy).
You ponder for a moment, absentmindedly brushing the strands out of his beautiful face. His eyes seem to droop lower and lower with every stroke. "I can be."
"But…?"
"But nothing. I just don't wanna."
"Are you done with meetings?" You nod. He registers the response and the lifts his head off the couch. Your hand rests limp on the cushions, cold air gushing through your fingers where there was Soonyoung's body heat before. For a moment you think he's icing you out to put you back to work, and you ready yourself to complain about it. Loudly.
You watch him gather the tiny eager dog in his arms and lift off the floor entirely. You're about to make a noise of disapproval at him for leaving, but you watch him walk towards the cabinet in the corner and bring out a package you'd been saving for later. Soonyoung sets the dog down next to his water bowl and rips opens the brand new shiny toy. It takes seconds, as though Soonyoung never existed.
The man turns around and makes a beeline towards you, determined, scheming look on his face you know you're smiling at. Suddenly your laptop is whisked from your lap, a quip halfway out your mouth before he does something to shuffle you even further.
His hands grab both your legs, warm against your skin from the sweats that have pulled up your legs, tugging them off the coffee table and throwing them on the couch.
"Soonyoung!" you exclaim, giggling audibly as he rips the tussled blanket from your lap. He's prompty taking its place, pushing your body to press against the back rest while your other side is flush against Soonyoung's body. Immediately, he's half on top of you, less graceful in the fall because it knocks the wind out of you.
You can hear the breathy giggles escape him as he kicks the blanket to cover you both. His leg slots between both of your own, snug and warm while he tucks one arm under your head and the other around your torso to keep you close.
"I didn't say I was done with work." You crane yor neck up to stare.
"I can put you back?" he offers, but the shit eating grin on his face is telling you otherwise.
You choose to not respond, instead adjusting so you're facing him better, bringing your own arm out to wrap around him. It's habit, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt like second nature, intruding underneath as your palms splay flat on the hard of his back.
It's become somewhat of an anchor, of course Soonyoung has never minded, even when you hook yourself around his waist, hand very obviously under his shirt in public. Even now, he doesn't seem to fully melt until he feels the warm of your hand, and the hard of the metal ring on your finger against his skin, right where it belongs.
"How much longer before they spare you?" he grunts, annoyed that he even has to talk about your work.
"One more day and I'm all yours," you answer, tucking your head into shoulder. You could always smell him past his perfume, a scent so very Soonyoung you can pinpoint it anywhere. It was sparse before he moved in, on a pillowcase here, a lingering in the kitchen there, but it follows you everywhere now, beyond the physical traces of his presence that floods your life. Even when you're out and about by yourself, you'll catch a whiff of him that's managed to rub off on you. You make sure to hug him extra tight every morning for it.
Your answer satiates him, because he's immediately delving into plans for your days off. Something about baking that required your supervision and other outside things he wants to cross of his list. You've gone back to craning your neck up to look at him as he talks, content with staring as he talks and talks.
"…lemon bars but I thought we could try croissants. I looked up the recipe and it looked easy enough. I bought those fancy dark chocolate bars we can put in there too. Actually I don't know if there's any left, I've been snacking while you work."
Beyond the fact that your fiance that you love to death and beyond just called baking croissants easy, you find yourself enveloped with a giddy feeling. The image of him making lists of things to do with you as soon as you'd have time to spare bubbles an aggressive kind of affection to the surface. The urge to squeeze his face is monumental.
As soon as there's a lull in his list, you find yourself lurching forward to give him a kiss right on the mouth. It catches him off guard, because you hear him gasp a little into your mouth and it has you stifling a laugh. He's smiling when you let go, only giving you seconds before he's readjusting and diving right back in.
His mouth hits yours with far more precision than before, but not without the stretch of his smile. He finds a grip on your torso that pulls you impossibly closer, his fingers finding your hips while his other hand pushes your shoulders up towards him, moving up to trace the shell of your ear.
"You're so pretty," he mumbles against your mouth. "Love you."
Your left hand traces his back where his spine is, digging with pressure and dragging them upwards. You feel him shudder above you, and you know you've done it. His well behaved movements turn heavier, sloppier. Suddenly his tongue is in your mouth, dragging over your own like he's trying to choke you with it. The hand on your hips migrates towards your ass, grabbing a handful in his palms as he moves further on top of you.
Reprieve comes in the form of Soonyoung's lips leaving yours and instead leaving open mouthed kisses everywhere else. The corner of your mouth, all the cheek he can find as he trails lower towards your neck. He latches onto the patch of skin under your ear, sucking and licking and nibbling in a way that has you sighing out loud.
It isn't long after that you feel the familiar hardness against your thigh while Soonyoung leaves his glistening kisses everywhere, as if the heaviness of his breath and all the incessant groping wasn't signal enough.
With the way your weeks have been going, this was usually the point you'd either tap out from exhaustion or fall asleep entirely. But as you register the uncomfortable feeling between your own legs, you know it's been too long.
You know Soonyoung is trying his hardest to not grind against you, to not push you farther than you can go, but it's you who's pushing upwards against his bulge, dragging yourself up and down against the feeling. You have to stifle a moan, the feeling taking a stagger to your hips, but it isn't nearly as loud as the groan Soonyoung lets out.
He stops all his movements, like he's trying to collect himself. The next thing you know the blanket that covered you both has been thrown off your bodies, a sudden gust of cold air reaching your legs.
Soonyoung glances back at your dog that is still occupied with his very loud squeaky toy, and takes the next moment to get off the couch himself.
"Soonyoung…?" you ask tentatively, having a hard time guaging his next move. Except you absolutely should've known, since his hands have dug underneath your body and you're being pulled up into his arms. You squeal as he lifts you off the plush with hardly a warning, making a beeline for the bedroom.
"Soonyoung, I can walk," you giggle.
"Not fast enough," he gruffs out, and you realise very quickly he hasn't left the mental zone.
There's crudely hung Christmas decor in your periphery and an insanely loud sqeaky toy in your ears you'll know you'll regret buying later on, but right now you feel content with the solid form of the man you're going to marry, and the solid promise in your very very near future.
Preview: You should’ve known the moment he walked into the boardroom with a grin too expensive for someone so inexperienced, This was temptation—tailored in Armani and absolutely lethal.
How did the two of you end up here—his office, lights off, half-breathing on his desk at nine o’clock at night?
You should’ve known the moment this would spiral. The signs were all there.
Soonyoung Kwon was the grandson of your boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. Which, by hierarchy, technically made him your boss too—though the title felt more ornamental than functional. You still remember the day he stepped out of the elevator a month ago, flashing a dazzling smile, shaking hands with the interns like he was on a political campaign.
He had announced himself as the new Director of KF Label, like he was gifting you all with his presence. And then your former director, who clearly saw the chaos ahead and ran, called you in for a “quick chat” and gracefully asked you—read: begged—to guide Soonyoung during his adaptation period.
A polite corporate term, you’ve since realized, for “He has no idea what the hell he’s doing, so make sure he doesn’t crash and burn the company before Q4.”
And yes—he truly has no idea what he’s doing. He is rich in confidence, poor in skill. A golden retriever with a black card and a C-suite title. Infuriatingly cheerful, tragically unqualified.
Which is how you, the marketing manager who actually built her way up from zero, spent the past month babysitting someone who thought "brand synergy" was a soft drink.
Thirty days of training him, fixing his mistakes, dragging him out of meetings he wasn’t prepared for, and still—still—somehow he manages to get under your skin.
“Now, tell me…”
“What should I say… during the meeting… with the supermarket owners tomorrow?”
Your fingers dug into the edge of his desk as he slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a pace you didn’t know he was capable of. God. Why were you into this? And why were you suddenly sounding like a desperate young woman getting her brain fucked stupid?
Kwon Soonyoung was an idiot. A cocky, clueless pain in your ass.
Yet tonight—he was making you worse than everything he is. Your moan broke the silence of the office in a high, breathless pitch no one in this building had ever heard from you. You—who kept your heels sharp, your lipstick in place, and your tone professional no matter the pressure. But now? Now you could barely get out a single word. Barely answer his simplest questions.
Yet he kept asking them. “We have a slogan?” — his first dumb question, asked a month ago when you handed him a company profile and procedural system you had rewritten in the simplest terms possible. You’d practically turned it into a corporate comic book, hoping to minimize the damage.
And now?
“Should I wear a Rolex or a Cartier for tomorrow’s meeting?”
He whispered it against your ear like it was dirty talk, the smirk in his voice cutting sharper than his thrusts. He probably thought he won something. Okay—fine. He won a little. Ever since he had you bent over his desk, squirming, gasping, ruined.
But still—stupid. Always with the stupid questions. “You’re… stupid!” you managed, voice strangled between a moan and a cry, half an insult and half a plea. You barely made sense, and you hated that he knew it.
He laughed, low and wicked, before slowing his hips, dragging out the motion just enough to make you whimper at the loss. His hand ran along your front, slipping under your blouse and palming your breast like he knew you needed that grounding, that release.
“Please… Kwon Soonyoung…” you gasped, back arching when his fingers grazed your nipple.
But instead of mercy, he pulled you upright, chest to chest, keeping you firmly locked against him. His hand gripped your waist as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“Answer me first, Ms. Ji. And remember…” His voice dropped a note deeper, quieter, deadlier.
“I’m your boss. So it’s Director Kwon.”
The next morning felt criminal.
Not just because you only managed two hours of sleep, or because your thighs still ached from being bent over a mahogany desk like some overworked intern in a very inappropriate drama. No. It was criminal because you still showed up on time, coffee in hand, hair done, heels on, and speech script perfectly printed.
Even after Kwon Soonyoung had given you three orgasms in one hour. In the office. On his desk. Under the goddamn company logo.
You were trying your best to pretend it never happened. Really, you tried. The speech script was crisp, stapled, and revised at 3 a.m. in between waves of humiliation, aftershocks of pleasure, and the memory of him whispering “Answer me, Ms. Ji…” like he wasn’t buried so deep inside you— you forgot your own name.
You had cross-checked every paragraph, every bullet point, just to make sure you hadn’t unconsciously written “Your cock has a better function than your brain.”
Honestly? If that line made it in, it wouldn’t be inaccurate. Was there a company that specialized in evaluating performance like that? Maybe it was time to write to the Kwon family directly. You could pitch it as a side venture—something like Kwon Enterprise: More Brains Below the Belt.
Hell, they might even give you equity for surviving their grandson.
“Thank you, Ms. Ji,” Soonyoung said quietly, his voice low, velvet-wrapped. He took the papers from your hand, but didn’t let go. His fingers lingered. So did his eyes.
And you swore—you swore—you saw the same madness in them that you saw last night. The hunger. The chaos. The wicked tilt of his mouth that said he remembered everything.
You cleared your throat, yanking your hand away as if his touch burned. It did, in a way. You forced your face back into your best professional mask.
“Try not to freestyle this time, Director,” you said coolly, taking the seat beside him. “And no dumb questions about ‘what synergy means.’ It’s in bold on page two.”
He smirked without turning, flipping the paper open. But you caught the way his leg brushed yours under the table. Intentional. Definitely intentional.
Last night was incredible. You couldn't lie. But if this man thought he could rattle you in daylight the same way he did in the dark. Well. He really was stupid.
*
A gentle touch on your shoulder startled you out of your screen-staring trance—you didn’t even know how long you’d been zoning out. Your eyes blinked back into focus, and you looked up to see Kim Mingyu, your colleague and the ever-reliable Finance and Accounting Manager of the label.
His brows were furrowed, concern written across his face. “You okay, Y/n? Director Kwon’s called for you three times,” he said softly.
You sighed, pushing yourself up from the chair with a tired stretch. “I’m fine. Just... running on fumes,” you said, flashing him a half-smile that tried to pass for reassurance.
But Mingyu didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head, gaze narrowing just a little. “Is he still bothering you?”
You blinked. “Who?”
“That bastard,” he replied, voice lower now—him, meaning Jeon Wonwoo, your ex. The IT guy who cheated on you two months ago with an intern. The same incident that created a domino effect of side-eyes and rumors throughout the building. It wasn’t a secret that Wonwoo’s spiral post-breakup had revealed just how deeply insecure he truly was. And not just about you—about everything.
You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling a sudden weight in the room. “No,” you said, clearing your throat. “He’s not worth mentioning anymore.”
Mingyu nodded slowly, reading between the lines but not pushing. “Okay. But you know I’ll throw hands if I have to.”
You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Appreciated. But no violence in the office—unless it’s against that printer in the copy room.”
That earned a soft chuckle from him. “Did Director Kwon actually say anything, or does he just need me to be present and breathing?” you asked, your eyes scanning your desk for the folder Soonyoung needed to sign. You knew how he was—selectively urgent.
Mingyu reached over and pulled a document map from the far corner of your workspace. “This. He needs this.”
You took it with a grateful sigh. “I’m seriously glad I have you, Mingyu. Otherwise I’d probably die in here for the stupidest reason—death by incompetent boss.”
Mingyu laughed, that boyish grin spreading across his face, fangs peeking out. “You’re dramatic.”
“You know I’m not.”
“True,” he replied, still grinning. “But at least the chaos keeps things interesting.”
You rolled your eyes with a quiet chuckle, fingers tightening on the file as you braced yourself to face Soonyoung again. That man could burn your patience to the ground in five minutes—and somehow still leave you… you didn't want to think about it!
You entered his office with quiet steps, the thick folder in your hand still warm from Mingyu’s grasp. Director Kwon Soonyoung sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair pushed back in a way that looked almost too polished for someone who once asked if a “slogan” was a new type of dip.
Without looking up, he extended his hand. “The file?” You placed it gently in his palm, expecting some sort of snide comment or dumb question about where to sign. But instead, he opened it, flipped straight to the right page, and signed with swift, confident strokes. No questions. No confusion. Just… efficiency.
Your brows lifted slightly. Who was this? Then, without looking up, “what’s the projected ROI on the third campaign under the Miju rebranding?”
You froze. Not from fear—but from pure shock.
He finally glanced up, and your eyes locked. There was no usual smirk, no cocky glint in his gaze. Just focus. Calculation.
You cleared your throat. “Projected ROI is 127%, assuming we maintain target engagement through the influencer channels and retail activations we discussed last week.”
A beat passed. He nodded once. “Good. Shift the TikTok rollout to next Monday. Make the data look prettier before we send it to the board. I want them convinced before they even read it.”
Another pause. You blinked. You were still blinking. He signed the final page, closed the folder, and handed it back with a smooth slide across the desk.
Then, with the slightest tug of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth, he said—
“You may go on the clock for today, Ms. Ji.”
You narrowed your eyes just slightly. “Excuse me?”
He leaned back in his chair, lazy again. Back to his usual smug, languid rhythm. “I said you may go. Early dismissal. I hear sleep deprivation reduces productivity—and I’d hate to see the company suffer just because you forgot how to say no to your boss.”
Your jaw tensed. He was back. The devil in Dior. But you refused to let him have the last word. So you smiled sweetly, flipping your hair off your shoulder. “Then I’ll use the time wisely and remind myself what good leadership looks like.”
His laughter followed you out the door. But so did his eyes.
*
You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing, the sharp buzz pulling you out of a sleep so deep, you almost forgot where you were. The living room was dim, the drama still playing quietly on TV—the last thing you remembered before dozing off. You hadn’t napped like that in years. Not since you started working your ass off at the label.
You squinted at your phone screen. 9:02 PM. The name flashing across it: “Boo Dam.”
“Mmm… Seungkwan…” you mumbled as you slid to answer.
“Honey!” his voice practically sang through the speaker. “You just woke up? Heol! That’s a record. Anyway—I’m going to this new bar with Vernon and Chan. Come join us!”
Seungkwan and Chan were your friends from college—your soulmates in chaos. Meanwhile Vernon… well, Vernon was the guy Seungkwan successfully seduced at a club a year ago with nothing but eye contact and a whiskey sour. They've been disgustingly cute ever since.
You stretched, letting your limbs slowly remember how to function. “Is it like a bar,” you asked, voice dry, “or a bar?” You didn’t need to explain the tone difference—Seungkwan knew.
Without missing a beat, he replied, “A bar. Capital B. Good lighting, better drinks, people who bathe.”
You smiled, already getting up. “Pick me up in thirty. Should I wear the red dress I sent you last week?”
The one you bought after seeing the intern Wonwoo cheated with had liked it on Instagram. It was an impulsive purchase—unlike you. But still… it looked fire on the model, and tonight, you wouldn’t mind setting something on fire.
Seungkwan gasped like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. “YES. Yes please! I want that intern to cry just by breathing the same air as you!”
You grinned. Tonight might not fix your mess of a professional life. But maybe, just maybe, it would remind you what it felt like to be you again.
*
Seungkwan rushed up to you like a windstorm in designer sneakers and pulled you into a quick hug that reeked of cologne and overpriced candles. “You look unreal. That intern is somewhere crying right now, I know it.” He held your arms and took a step back like he was inspecting artwork. “Ten out of ten. No—eleven. You’re welcome, world.”
Vernon chuckled beside him. “Glad you made it.”
“Thanks,” you laughed. “Though now I’m wondering if I overdressed.”
“You definitely didn’t,” Chan said without missing a beat, raising his hand to you. “You’re just raising the bar.”
The bar Seungkwan had chosen was all velvet mood and amber light—dim enough to hide your regrets but not dark enough to trip on your heels. Hushed conversations buzzed low under a jazzy remix of something that used to be a love song, and the scent of expensive gin and citrus filled the air.
You made your way toward the bar counter, scanning the place. But before the group could fully settle, Seungkwan clapped his hands once. “Okay, baby,” he turned to Vernon, “we need to find the bathroom. And by bathroom I mean selfie lighting. Emergency.”
Vernon just smiled, like this wasn’t the fifth time tonight. “Lead the way.” And just like that, the couple vanished into the crowd like glitter in a wind tunnel.
You slid onto the barstool, crossing your legs as you adjusted the hem of your red dress, feeling the fabric hug your skin in all the right ways. You stared after them, then turned back to Chan, brows raised. “Did they even sit down?”
Chan shrugged, raising his hand toward the bartender for an order, strong whiskey. “I give them ten minutes. Tops. Then they’ll either come back drunk or deeply emotional.”
You laughed again, warmer this time. “Or both.”
“Always both.”
“So,” Chan said, turning slightly to face you, “what do you want out of tonight?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Out of tonight?”
He nodded, serious now—his eyes clearer despite the liquor. “I mean… what would make this night feel like it was worth leaving your bed and dreams behind?”
You looked at him for a second. Your red dress clung to your skin in all the ways that made you feel powerful. But somehow, that question made you feel a little bare.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe just a moment where I don’t feel like I’m holding the weight of everything. A night where I’m not someone’s manager, not the woman who got cheated on by an IT guy with bad eyesight.”
Chan chuckled, amused. He knocked back a shot of whiskey, exhaling sharply as it hit. Then, as if it were the most natural shift in conversation, he muttered, “So. Still dealing with your incompetent boss?”
You tilted your head with a sigh, leaning your elbow on the bar. “Worse. I think he’s trying to be competent now, which is terrifying in itself.”
“Hmm.” Chan nodded solemnly. “Mine forgot to approve the budget this week and then blamed it on Mercury retrograde.”
You blinked. “Isn’t he the one who doesn’t believe in astrology?”
“Exactly.”
A beat passed, then both of you laughed quietly into your drinks, bitter and understanding.
“People like us deserve a position,” Chan muttered, more to himself than to you. Then he downed his next shot like he was trying to silence something. Maybe his ambition. Maybe the reality.
Your eyes followed his line of sight, catching a man on the other side of the bar—tall, broad-shouldered, eyeing Chan like he was something worth unwrapping.
Chan caught it too. He turned to you with a mischievous smirk, the kind you knew too well. “Excuse me,” he said smoothly, setting down his glass. “Duty calls.”
You laughed as he sauntered off, watching the silent exchange between him and the stranger—how easily Chan slipped into chemistry, how effortlessly people gravitated toward him.
It made you smile. And ache, just a little. Your friends really were better at finding men than you. You swirled your drink in its glass, watching the liquid catch the light like molten gold. Fuck.
A subtle shift in air made you glance to your side. Someone had taken the stool Chan had vacated minutes ago—unannounced, but not unwelcome.
He looked crisp. A semi-formal suit in charcoal gray, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest ease without arrogance. His hair was freshly cut, styled like he walked out of a luxury magazine spread, but the smile he wore? Surprisingly… cute.
“Hey,” he said, voice smooth but warm. “Are you alone?”
You blinked once, thrown for the smallest second before recovering with a polite smile. “Nah, I’m with friends.”
He nodded, gaze never drifting, posture casual but confident. “I’m Choi Seungcheol.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Choi Seungcheol? You’d heard the name before. Everyone in the building had. Director of Grand Paradise Hotel, under the Choi Group. One of your company’s most important VVIP clients—usually talked about in numbers, not in the context of flashing a boyish smile at you in a bar.
“Ji Y/n,” you replied, offering your name with an ounce of surprise still clinging to your voice.
“I like your dress, by the way,” he said sincerely, his tone the kind of soft that didn’t ask for attention, but gave it fully. “You look amazing in it.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing clever came. His compliment didn’t feel like a line. It felt like the truth wrapped in manners. He flagged down the bartender, ordering something light—no shots, no bravado. Just a mild liquor with a twist of lime, like he was trying to prove he was here to talk, not to get drunk.
Cute. And unexpectedly polite—for someone carrying that much power behind his last name. Unlike someone you were really, really trying not to think about.
“So,” he said, turning slightly toward you, “my friends are at a table across the room. Do you mind joining us?” He paused, then added with a soft chuckle, “I promise they’re decent guys. No finance bros in sight.”
You considered it. Not too quickly, not too slowly—just enough to give the impression that you weren’t that easy, but you also weren’t cold.
You smiled, head tilting. “Sure.”
His eyes sparkled briefly at that, and in one smooth motion, he stood. Then, reaching for your hand, he helped you up from the high stool—like a man raised right. His grip was firm, confident, warm. And it was probably nothing. Probably just good manners.
Seungcheol’s hand remained gently on yours as he guided you across the bar, weaving through polished shoes, crystal glasses, and laughter that cost too much.
The place changed as you moved deeper—less noise, more privacy, the lighting softer, shadows richer. The kind of spot reserved for people who didn’t have to wait in line. And you were being led there. You.
When he stopped at the table, three men looked up mid-conversation, drinks in hand, posture relaxed in the way only old money could be.
“Everyone,” Seungcheol said casually, “this is Ji Y/n. She’s joining us tonight.”
You smiled, polite but composed, heart thumping a little harder than you liked. You recognized the faces before Seungcheol even opened his mouth. You’d seen them in magazine articles, shareholder meetings, boardroom slides—not up close, not like this.
Jeonghan sat at the far end, one arm draped lazily over the back of the velvet booth, legs crossed, a glass of scotch in hand. Hair tucked just right behind his ear, a soft silk shirt half-buttoned like he was born too elegant to care about dress codes. He was the kind of man who turned being looked at into an art form. You’d seen him before—once at a fashion gala you were nowhere near important enough to attend, and many times in the margins of headlines about high-end runway investments, creative directorships, and quiet takeovers. The heir of a fashion empire, and from the look in his eyes, fully aware of it.
Next to him was Joshua, spine straight, shirt pristine, smile the kind that had likely been melting boardroom resistance since he was a teenager. He exuded charm without arrogance—a quieter sort of influence that didn’t need to announce itself. You remembered him from a different kind of context: a company email signature at the bottom of a rejection letter when you’d applied to Hong Finance 8 years ago. Back then, you imagined men like him sitting behind high-rise windows, too far out of reach to even notice people like you.
“Nice to meet you,” you said calmly, shaking his hand with a professional grace. No bitterness. Just quiet history you kept to yourself.
And then—then your gaze moved to the last man at the table. Your breath stalled for half a second.
Kwon Soonyoung. He was mid-sip, glass frozen near his lips, eyes wide with what could only be described as… surprised indignation. He looked clean and collected in a black button-up with his sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone like the night didn’t deserve his full formality. But his stare? It was searing.
You’d never seen him in this kind of setting. Not as your annoyingly attractive director. But as one of them. Powerful. Prestigious. Connected.
You tilted your chin slightly, letting a small smile rise to your lips as if to say, Fancy seeing you here.
He blinked, then lowered his glass slowly. “Ji Y/n.” Your name sounded strange coming from his mouth in front of this table. Too familiar. Too… intimate.
Joshua and Jeonghan looked between the two of you with mild interest, picking up on the tension like it was perfume. Seungcheol remained seated, watching the exchange without interference. Then he leaned over, voice smooth as his smile.
“Looks like you two know each other?”
You chuckled softly and sat down beside him. Soonyoung’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tapped against the side of his glass, lips parted like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.
*
Your eyes met across the polished length of the boardroom table. Again. This has become a weekly ritual now—joining board meetings not just as the Marketing Manager, but as Kwon Soonyoung’s unofficial shadow. Secretary. Handler. Babysitter. Pick a label, they all applied.
Still, a small part of you secretly flattered at the elevation. The prestige. You were seen, involved, and whether they liked it or not, your presence had weight in that room.
Every time a meeting wrapped, you’d nudge Mingyu and mutter, “I’m going to be the one talking in there someday. Note that.” To which he always replied with a half-laugh, half-sigh, “Sure you are.”
He never debated you. He knew better. You didn’t bluff when it came to ambition. But right now, ambition wasn’t the problem. It was Soonyoung.
He’d been staring since you walked in. Sat down. Dragged him out of his office five minutes before the meeting began, muttering something about punctuality and image and for once just pretend you’re not a walking HR hazard.
Staring wasn’t new with him. He often looked at things the way a curious toddler would—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like the world was one big mysterious object. But this time? This time his stare wasn’t childish curiosity. It was more like you grew a second head and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or wanted to poke it with a stick.
You shot him a sharp look, mouthing the word “Focus” and subtly motioning toward the executives who were mid-discussion about budget forecasting.
Soonyoung blinked, then smiled—too innocently—and turned his gaze toward the speaker, nodding along like he hadn’t just spent the last three minutes trying to telepathically undress your thoughts.
You furrowed your brow in suspicion before glancing down at your watch. Almost noon. And you were starving. Your fingers tapped the table quietly as the meeting stretched on, words starting to blur together. You tried to stay alert, but every time you felt yourself zoning out, Soonyoung shifted slightly in your peripheral vision. Not because he was fidgeting.
But because he was still watching you. And now you were convinced of one thing: He wasn’t staring like you grew a horn.
“You went home with Seungcheol-hyung last night.” His voice broke the silence as the two of you had just settled in after the board meeting—him tossing off his blazer like he ran the world, you gathering your files with the intention of escaping before your stomach officially started devouring itself.
Your steps halted mid-stride. “Yes, Mr. Kwon,” you replied, turning slightly over your shoulder. Tone neutral. Civil. Professional.
Soonyoung nodded slowly, a little too calmly. “I bet you went home… very safely.”
You blinked. Was that supposed to mean something? “I did, actually,” you said, brows lifting in subtle confusion. “Thank you for your concern.”
He slid into his chair, tilting it back with that look on his face. A smile curled at the corner of his lips—not his usual, goofy, harmless grin. This one was... sharp. Teasing. With just enough glint of mad to make you want to throw a stapler across the room.
“I’m expecting the summary from the meeting,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head, “after lunch.”
You blinked again. “I was planning to finish it after I eat.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Mmm, but you always say I should send the report right after the meeting ends, remember? ‘Strike while the numbers are hot,’ wasn’t that your words, Ms. Ji?”
Shit. That was your line. You cleared your throat. “With all due respect, I’m afraid I can’t hand it in that fast. I’ll need some time to—”
“Really?” he cut in, voice dipped with mock surprise. “Because I need it quickly. You made that very clear. Efficiency is everything, right?”
You stared at him, mouth parting in silent disbelief. This was personal. You knew it. That little smile on his face was soaked in petty vengeance. You bowed stiffly, jaw clenched. “Understood, Mr. Kwon.”
As you turned to leave, fuming and still hungry, you could practically feel his smugness trailing behind you like expensive cologne. And everyone who saw you stomping back into your department after that? Knew exactly who you were cursing under your breath.
Kwon Soonyoung, the golden heir of the Kwon Group. A menace in designer shoes. And currently, the reason you’d be skipping lunch and possibly losing your sanity.
*
No one stayed in the office during lunch. It was the only sacred hour when even the most cutthroat employees stepped out to breathe something that didn’t reek of toner, stress, or twenty kinds of corporate ambition. Even Mingyu had left—after tipping you off about a new KF Label instant spaghetti that only needed five minutes in the microwave. “Garlic cream or tomato,” he’d whispered like he was offering black market gold.
But not you. You sat at your desk, typing the meeting summary like your job—or pride—depended on it. Which, let’s be honest, it did. You weren’t about to give Kwon Soonyoung the satisfaction of thinking he’d thrown you off just because he got a little petty over last night’s company. Your stomach growled in rebellion, but your ego growled louder.
When the last word clicked into place and the printer began humming behind you, you pushed away from your chair with a smug stretch and headed to the pantry. You’d earned that microwaved meal, sad as it was.
Except when you stepped inside, the scent of cheap instant coffee hit you first—followed by the last person you expected to see.
Kwon Soonyoung. Blazer gone, sleeves rolled up, stirring his coffee like this wasn’t the same man who’d made your blood pressure spike all morning. His tie hung slightly loose, hair messier than it had been during the meeting. He looked... calm. Almost casual. Like he belonged here. He didn’t.
“Ms. Ji,” he greeted smoothly, his voice low, almost too composed.
You bowed without thinking, still halfway in surprise. “I didn’t know you were staying in.”
He shrugged, not quite smiling. “Neither did I.”
Your gaze narrowed slightly. “Didn’t grab lunch, Mr. Kwon?”
He swirled the plastic stirrer in his cup, then leaned against the counter with the kind of confidence that didn’t belong in a pantry. “Didn’t have time,” he said, eyes cutting toward you. “You said I needed that report fast, remember?”
You ignored him and turned to the microwave, peeling back the film cover. “I came here for spaghetti.”
The microwave beeped. You retrieved the steaming bowl, grabbed a fork, and gave it a quick stir. The scent of tomato and roasted garlic filled the small space—a reminder that, yes, your company did do something right.
“So that’s it,” he said behind you. “The new KF Label product.”
You nodded without turning. “Premium instant line. Heat-and-Meet.”
There was a pause. Then, Soonyoung stood.
He moved to stand beside you, too close for the pantry’s size, or for what little sanity you had left. “You’re eating company product,” he said, voice lower now. “That’s very… loyal of you.”
“I’m starving. Loyalty’s a coincidence.”
He glanced at your fork, then back at your face. “Still looks good on you.”
You blinked. That line shouldn’t have worked. But it stirred something anyway. You cleared your throat. “Do you want a bite?”
He raised a brow. “You’re offering to share?”
“Don’t make it weird. It’s R&D. You’re the director. You should know what it tastes like before you embarrass yourself at investor tastings.”
Without hesitation, he leaned forward and took the bite directly from your fork. It was too smooth. Too deliberate. The slide of his lips against the plastic, the way he held your gaze as he chewed.
You stared at him, half wondering when the room got warmer. He swallowed, thoughtfully. “Tangy. Surprisingly rich.” He looked at you, a beat too long. “Kind of like the woman who made me eat it.”
You stared at him. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it—like it wasn’t a line, like it was a fact. His gaze didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. And then it did—just slightly—drifting down. You felt it like a touch: the way his eyes paused at your lips. Not in a rush. Not in hunger. Just there.
Studying. Contemplating. Wanting. Your breath hitched, just enough that you swore he noticed it. He tilted his head slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do. And suddenly, the air between you didn’t feel casual anymore. It felt hot. It felt loud.
You didn’t move. He didn’t either.
But the tension between you was already leaning forward, even if your bodies hadn’t yet.
And then, slowly—so slowly—it happened.
Your eyes fluttered down. His breath brushed your cheek. Neither of you said a word as you both leaned in at the same time, like it wasn’t a choice but a conclusion. Like something you’d been avoiding had finally cornered the two of you in the smallest room in the building.
Your lips met—soft, hesitant at first.
A question. An answer. And then it deepened.
Not rushed, not frantic, but sure. Deliberate. Like every back-and-forth bicker, every power play, every petty jab in the boardroom had been leading to this.
His hand touched the edge of the counter beside you, grounding himself. Yours hovered somewhere near his chest before settling on the curve of his arm—tense beneath your fingers.
It wasn’t a kiss that screamed recklessness. It was a kiss that whispered, we knew this was coming. And maybe… maybe that was worse.
Because when you finally pulled away, just barely, lips still brushing, you didn’t dare look at him. Not yet. You just whispered, voice low and cracked at the edge, “That was very… unprofessional, Mr. Kwon.”
Soonyoung’s lips curved near yours. “Good,” he murmured, “because I’m not done being unprofessional.”
You barely had time to process his words—“I’m not done being unprofessional”—before his lips captured yours again, firmer this time. Less tentative. Less testing.
Your back bumped against the edge of the counter as he stepped closer, his hand skimming your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through the thin fabric of your blouse. The scent of his coffee still lingered on his breath, mixing with something uniquely his—clean, warm, infuriatingly intoxicating.
You let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a gasp, as your fingers slipped into his hair—soft and slightly messy from the day. You gripped it lightly, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth. God. That sound.
His hand settled firmly on your hip, pulling you into him like gravity had a personal agenda. The kiss turned deeper, messier, your bodies syncing in a rhythm that felt far too natural for two people who spent most of their time trading sarcasm and sideways glances in glass-walled meetings.
It was heat. Friction. Unspoken things finally spoken with mouths instead of words. Soonyoung broke the kiss only to trail his lips to the corner of your jaw, his voice warm and ragged against your skin. “You always talk so much in meetings,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the exposed skin beneath your tucked blouse. “But now you’re so quiet.”
You swallowed, breath shaky, heart hammering against your ribs. “Maybe I’m waiting for a good question for once.”
He chuckled against your neck, low and sinful, before lifting his head—eyes dark, lips kissed pink, voice like velvet. “Okay then…”
His thumb grazed the hem of your skirt. “…Ms. Ji, what do I have to do to make you say my name again?”
You should’ve walked away. You should’ve reminded him this was a pantry, in a corporate building, at lunchtime. But instead?
You pulled him back into you like your body had already made the decision your brain refused to acknowledge. Fingers tight in his hair. Mouth crashing into his like you were both starving. And maybe you were.
You didn’t remember taking another breath—only the weight of his body caging you against the counter, the soft clang of your forgotten fork hitting the floor, and the rush of his hands finally going where your thoughts had wandered for too long.
Soonyoung hovered close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, voice almost reverent.
“Am not,” you breathed, your fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him there like you weren’t entirely sure you could stay upright without him.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, slow, assured, until his knuckles grazed the band of your underwear. He paused, as if testing the waters. As if daring you to stop him.
But you didn’t. You let your head fall back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he tugged at the fabric—just enough to slip his fingers under, to brush against heat and softness and the part of you that ached with how long you'd resisted this exact moment.
A quiet gasp escaped you, and that seemed to break whatever restraint he still had. “God…” he exhaled like a confession, “you really drive me insane, you know that?”
He kissed you again, slower this time—almost sweet if not for the way his hand moved with purpose, with intention, like he wanted to memorize every reaction you gave him. Your hand gripped the back of his neck, grounding yourself in him, in this, in the ridiculous insanity of making out in the pantry like it was your last chance on earth.
“You’re always so in control,” he murmured, teasing the edge of your jaw as his other hand anchored your hip, “but I think you like it when I push.”
You opened your eyes just enough to meet his, and there it was again—that flicker of madness, mischief, and something dangerously close to need.
“Careful, Mr. Kwon,” you whispered, mouth brushing his, “push too far, and I might pull you under.” He smirked like he hoped you would. And then he kissed you again—deeper, slower, pulling you closer like the world outside that pantry didn’t matter.
*
You were flabbergasted. A month ago, you were heating instant spaghetti in the pantry, trying to pretend that fucking your boss didn’t feel like the worst idea you’d ever fallen into.
Now? You were sitting stiffly in a room with three people from HR, a folder in front of you, your hands cold despite how warm the room felt.
Yes, you had slept with Kwon Soonyoung. A few times. Consensually. Not impulsively, not irresponsibly—not from your perspective. And as ridiculous as it was to admit even to yourself, he hadn’t been bad at all in those areas. Too good, in fact. Dangerously good, both with his hands and the way he listened—actually listened—to your ideas during board meetings. He even stopped wearing Cartier and started taking actual notes.
So the fact that you were here, now, caught off guard and very much alone, felt like a slap out of nowhere.
The woman in the middle of the HR panel cleared her throat, hands folded neatly. “Ms. Ji. We wanted to discuss something concerning that’s come to our attention.”
You blinked, still unsure where this was going. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I did anything against the—”
“Your last relationship,” the woman interrupted gently, “was already a topic of concern when it involved someone significant to the company.”
Wonwoo.
You stiffened, jaw tightening. You hadn’t heard his name in weeks, and you preferred it that way. But yes, the intern he cheated with turned out to be someone's niece from the Kwon family. Of course that hadn’t died quietly.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the man sitting beside her cut in first. “We didn’t expect this one.”
You blinked again. “Excuse me?” They didn’t repeat it. They didn’t need to.
The third HR rep leaned forward, sliding a paper your way—an incident report, stamped and dated. “We’re going to have to take action regarding your affair with Director Kwon.”
Everything in you froze. For a moment, all you could hear was the soft buzz of the overhead light. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, as the words circled your head like a siren you couldn’t shut off. Your affair. Director Kwon. It felt like your lungs deflated.
“I… don’t understand,” you finally said, slow and careful. “On what grounds?”
The woman in the center flipped open a file. “There was a complaint submitted anonymously, referencing inappropriate conduct in the office. Specifically in shared spaces. A pantry, for instance.”
Your stomach dropped. So fast, it made your fingers go numb. “And—if I may,” the younger HR rep added, “there’s also concern regarding power dynamics, given your reporting line.”
You wanted to laugh. But it wasn’t funny. Because you’d worked so damn hard. You trained Soonyoung. You cleaned up his messes and wrote half the proposals with his name on them, and still walked into every meeting like your career had been built on steel, not glass.
And now, after everything, it came down to this? A moment. And an anonymous report.
You clenched your jaw, sat straighter, and folded your hands in your lap. “So what kind of action are we talking about?”
The room went quiet. The silence that followed your question felt like it lasted forever. And then the answer came, quietly, like they already knew how you’d react—and were bracing for it.
“We’ve decided,” the woman said carefully, “that you will be reassigned to a different department effective immediately.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “Reassigned?”
“Demoted,” the man clarified with corporate softness, as if using the word wouldn’t hit like a fist. “You’ll be moved from Marketing Management to Administrative Strategy under Corporate Communications.”
You stared at them. Not because you didn’t understand. But because you did. They weren’t firing you. That would’ve made noise. No—they were burying you quietly, slipping you into a department where your work wouldn’t shine, where your name wouldn’t show up on campaign reports, board meeting minutes, or executive proposals. They were pushing you out of the light.
You let out a slow, controlled exhale, refusing to let the tremble in your chest reach your face. “Is Director Kwon receiving the same treatment?”
Another pause. “No,” the lead HR officer said. “After discussion with the executive board, it was determined that Director Kwon will be formally warned, and the matter will be noted in his file.”
A warning. You blinked. A warning for him. A demotion for you. You pressed your lips together, not trusting your voice to stay steady. “And that’s fair, in your opinion?”
“Ms. Ji,” the younger officer interjected gently, “you’ve had a prior history of internal relationship issues that—”
“He’s my superior.” You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If anything, he should’ve been held to a higher standard.”
They didn’t answer. No one ever did, when the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. He had power. You didn’t. And even if you were the one who helped him become competent, presentable, capable—even if you were the one cleaning up his early failures and doing your work and his—they didn’t care. Because it was easier to punish the one they knew would quietly take it.
Your jaw clenched as you stood, straightening your blazer. “I understand.”
The head officer gave a polite nod. “Your reassignment email will be sent by the end of day. Your new manager will expect you tomorrow morning.”
You turned to leave, your heels echoing sharper than usual against the tiled floor. Your desk had never felt this bare before. You moved like your body had detached from the rest of you—silent, efficient, folding your things with the kind of care you’d normally reserve for the start of something, not the end. Each click of a pen, each rustle of a folder being stacked, was sharp in the quiet.
You didn’t speak. You didn’t cry. You just packed. A shadow passed in your peripheral vision.
“Y/n?” You turned slightly to find Mingyu standing there, a confused frown drawing across his face. His eyes darted to the box on your desk, to your emptied shelves, then back to you.
“What’s going on?”
You kept your head down, pretending to double-check a folder as you tucked it into the box.
“I just got an email from HR,” he continued, voice tightening. “They’re asking me to step in as acting Marketing Manager… temporarily.”
He said the last word like it tasted wrong in his mouth.
You didn’t answer. Your fingers paused at the edge of a stapler, then moved past it.
“Y/n.” Mingyu stepped closer. “What the hell is happening?”
You closed the box slowly, pressing your palm flat against the top as if to anchor yourself. Your chest felt too full—tight with shame, anger, disbelief—and none of it had a name you were ready to say out loud.
You looked up, just enough to meet his eyes. His worry was sincere. Of course it was. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have accepted the offer if he did.
“I’m being moved,” you said quietly. “Another department.”
“Wait—what?” Mingyu blinked, stunned. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, voice low and flat. “Not right now.”
He fell silent. You could hear the protest building in his throat, the way he shifted his weight like his body didn’t know whether to stay or follow. But he didn’t press. He just nodded once—slow, reluctant.
You gave him a tight smile, the kind that didn't touch your eyes. Then you picked up your box and walked out of your office—your former office—without looking back.
*
Soonyoung walked into the office with his blazer half off and irritation simmering behind his eyes. The lunch meeting had been a disaster—numbers thrown around without context, board members talking in circles, and nobody knowing what the hell they actually wanted from him. He needed grounding. He needed clarity. He needed you.
So when he stepped out of the elevator and saw Mingyu standing by his office door instead of you, he frowned. “Mingyu?” he asked, blinking like he’d walked into the wrong floor. “Where’s Ms. Ji?”
Mingyu straightened a little, caught off guard. “I… see HR hasn’t told you.”
Soonyoung’s brows pinched. “Told me what?”
“Ms. Ji has been reassigned to another department,” Mingyu said, careful with his words. “I’ve been assigned to assist you until your new executive assistant is recruited.”
For a beat, the air felt thicker. Soonyoung tilted his head, confused. “She was moved? When?”
“I’m not sure about the details, sir,” Mingyu replied, trying not to fidget under Soonyoung’s narrowing gaze. “I only got the notice after lunch.”
Soonyoung stared past him for a second, processing. You were just… gone? No meeting. No sarcastic remarks. No quiet nod as you handed him a stack of deadlines and subtle reminders to behave like a functioning adult. No draft on his desk of the proposal you were supposed to polish before 3 p.m. Gone. Without a word.
“Right,” Soonyoung finally said, brushing past Mingyu and into his office. “Thanks.”
At exactly 2 p.m., two sharp, precise knocks echoed against the glass door of Soonyoung’s office. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Only one person knocked like they were keeping time on a metronome. The door opened anyway.
Kwon Soonyoung looked up to see Lee Jihoon—his cousin, his childhood sparring partner, and unfortunately, also the manager of the Human Resources department. Jihoon was sharp as ever, dressed in a pale button-down and black slacks, sleeves rolled past his elbows like always, giving him the air of someone both overworked and unbothered by it.
He walked in with calm purpose, a single manila folder in his hand and a look on his face that said this wasn’t a social visit. Soonyoung sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What now?”
Jihoon said nothing. He reached the desk, dropped the folder down with a solid thump, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Your notice,” he said, tone clipped. Soonyoung dragged his fingers through his hair and opened it with two fingers like it might bite. Inside was a printed letter bearing the company’s watermark and the clinical, unmistakable phrasing of HR. The header hit first:
Formal Reprimand — Director Kwon Soonyoung.
Beneath it:
Violation of company policies regarding professional conduct and inappropriate relations within workplace hours...
A wave of heat spread across the back of Soonyoung’s neck. He exhaled through his nose. “A love letter,” he muttered bitterly.
“I warned you,” Jihoon replied, not even flinching.
Of course he had. Jihoon had been warning him since the second week Soonyoung started at KF Label. First subtly. Then with passive-aggressive memos. And then with real conversations—cousin to cousin, HR to Director.
Soonyoung kept reading. Then he stopped. Your name was listed. His. Dated timestamps. A note about internal protocol breaches and the review that followed. “She was moved because of this?” Soonyoung’s voice was low. Tight.
Jihoon gave a slow, neutral shrug. “She’s been reassigned to Corporate Communications under Admin Strategy. Effective immediately.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Jihoon didn’t move from where he leaned against the desk, arms crossed again. “The complaint came in. Security reports matched the time. You want the details? You’ll get them in writing. Bottom line—HR took action.”
“She didn’t file anything,” Soonyoung said, more to himself than anyone.
“No,” Jihoon replied. “But someone else did. You’re in a glass building, Soonyoung. Don’t act like you’re invisible.”
“No, she didn’t,” Jihoon agreed, voice flat. “But she’s not the one with Kwon as their last name. You are. And between the two of you, the board wasn’t about to sacrifice their own director—so they cut the easier string.” The words hit harder than they should have.
Soonyoung sank into his chair, fingers curling slightly around the edge of the folder. “She made this department function,” he said. “She made me functional.”
Jihoon tilted his head, stepping away from the desk. “And now she’s somewhere no one will bother her again.”
He reached for the door handle, pausing with one foot out. Then, without turning back, “She covered for you every single time you slipped. Maybe instead of being angry at HR, you should be asking yourself why she ever had to.”
The door clicked closed behind him.bAnd for the first time since Soonyoung sat behind that director’s desk, it didn’t feel like power anymore. It felt like consequence.
Days later, Soonyoung stared at his screen, the cursor blinking beneath the words he had retyped at least four times. He wasn’t good at this part. The… formal part. The “trying to keep things clean after it’s already messy” part.
But he had to try something. He’d already felt the hollow space you'd left behind the second he walked into the office and saw someone else standing where you should have been. The wrong energy. The wrong rhythm. Everything off balance. The chair behind your old desk was too still, like no one dared to fill the space you carved.
So he wrote the email like a coward—because walking to your new department unannounced felt too aggressive. And calling felt too personal.
Ms. Ji, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet briefly regarding recent events and your transition. Please let me know if you’re available this week, at your convenience.
Regards,
Kwon Soonyoung
Director, KF Label
He wrote it like a professional. And hated every line of it. But he sent it anyway. Then he sat there, one elbow on the desk, teeth pressing against his knuckle as if it might keep the anticipation at bay. It didn’t.
When your reply came in twenty-three minutes later, he opened it instantly. The corner of his lips lifted—small, involuntary.
I didn’t realize you had mastered the art of professional communication—should we alert HR?
Of course you’d say that. He let out a breath of something that was almost a laugh. It tugged at his chest in a way that was both cruel and comforting. You hadn’t blocked him out. Not entirely. You still knew how to twist the knife with charm. He leaned back in his chair and reread the last line.
Please book a meeting room that doesn’t echo.
So you were coming. Soonyoung swiveled in his chair, glancing toward the hallway, toward the part of the building where he used to see you moving between departments, coffee in one hand, files in the other, bossing people with that crisp, no-nonsense tone that made him fall for you in the first place.
It had been a month. A month of kissing you like he couldn’t help it. A month of crossing lines in ways that felt reckless but right. And then one day—just gone. No fight. No confrontation. Just a folder on his desk from Jihoon and a quiet, echoing absence.
He turned back to his screen and opened the calendar. Booked Meeting Room 5A—the only one with decent soundproofing—and sent the invite. As he pressed send, he sat back and rubbed a palm against his jaw, heart slower than usual but heavier.
You were coming. But this time, you were coming from a different department, a different floor, a different version of what the two of you had built—one meeting, one mistake at a time.
And he didn’t know if you were coming as a former colleague, a woman he’d ruined something with, or someone who still wanted answers.
Soonyoung wasn't the type to fall for the cold ones. Not at first glance, anyway. His usual preference tilted toward softer edges—women who laughed too easily, said yes too quickly, and let him coast through the surface of things. People who didn’t poke at his insecurities or point out the gaping holes in his competence like it was part of their daily job description.
Which is exactly why you were not his type. At least, you weren’t supposed to be.
You were the definition of precision—smart, fast, efficient, and terrifyingly prepared. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t dangle compliments or flash polite smiles unless they were strategic. You were the woman who made everyone in the room sit up straighter when you walked in.
And yet, from day three, he was already in trouble.
You’d walked into his office with your file folder tucked against your chest, wearing a blood-red pencil skirt and a black blouse so sharp it could’ve sliced someone’s quarterly budget in half. Stockings, heels, hair pulled back in that tight, quiet way that made him forget what you’d said right after you said it.
He hadn’t even known what department you were from before then. But he knew from the second he looked at you that you were dangerous.
You weren’t just attractive. You were intimidatingly put-together. The kind of woman whose brain was hotter than her body—and her body was already a goddamn threat.
Call him a pervert—but he’d nearly choked on his own thoughts that day. And his type? Changed. Overnight. It wasn’t just the clothes. Or the legs. It was how you looked at him when you spoke. Like you knew ten things he didn’t. Like he was your slowest subject in class.
And that mouth. You didn’t curse. You didn’t yell. You told him he was stupid with elegant, HR-friendly, vocabulary—inefficient, unprepared, unfamiliar with protocol. Words that stung more than insults because they were true.
Soonyoung wasn't a saint. He loved women. But your breed? Rare. Too rare to ignore. Too rare to resist. Maybe that’s why when you’d stayed late with him that first time—papers everywhere, the city lights bleeding in through the blinds, and you standing too close with your hair falling from that bun—you became inevitable.
Maybe that’s why his hand reached for you like instinct. Why you didn’t push him away. Why your kiss tasted like the end of something professional. And maybe that’s why he’d bent you over that desk that night—not just because he wanted to (God, he did)—but because some part of him had already fallen.
*
"Fuck..."
Your breath hitched as you settled onto him, your knees braced on either side of his thighs, the edge of the table digging lightly into your back. The polished surface was cold. His hands were anything but.
Soonyoung’s fingers gripped your hips with a firmness that said he’d been dreaming of this—of you—for longer than he wanted to admit. His thumbs pressed into the curve just above your waistband, guiding you, grounding you.
Each movement between you was desperate but controlled, like something learned through tension rather than timing.
Earlier, You arrived at Meeting Room 5A at 4:01 p.m. He was already inside. Blinds drawn. Door locked. Suit jacket hung neatly over the chair beside him. His shirt sleeves rolled up, wrists bare. A bottle of water sat untouched in front of him, condensation sliding down its sides like even it was nervous to be in this room.
You didn’t sit right away. Soonyoung looked up, eyes scanning you with something unreadable. He stood as you approached, as if unsure whether to greet you like a colleague… or something else.
“Ms. Ji,” he said quietly, too formal for the way he was looking at you.
“Director Kwon,” you returned with equal sharpness, sliding into the chair across from him. You placed your phone on the table, screen-down. Just in case.
Silence hovered like a third presence. He was the first to break it. “I didn’t know they were going to move you.”
You tilted your head. “That’s the thing about consequences. Sometimes they arrive quietly.”
“I didn’t file anything,” he said. “You know that, right?”
You gave a small, humorless smile. “I know. But your silence wasn’t exactly protective either.”
That landed. He didn’t argue. The seconds stretched again, thick with things neither of you wanted to say out loud.bThen, Soonyoung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice dropped, no longer formal. “I miss working with you.”
You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers tapped against the wood, rhythm steady. “Is that what this meeting is about?” you asked eventually. “Missing your assistant?”
He smirked, but it was hollow. “You weren’t just my assistant, and you know that.”
You did. And that was the problem.
His hands slid up slowly, tracing the slope of your waist, steadying you as you moved against him. He tilted his head back just slightly, his jaw clenched, mouth parting with a quiet exhale that barely made it past his throat.
You didn’t need him to say anything. You felt it in the way he held you tighter with every shift. The way his fingers pressed into your skin like he couldn’t believe this was real again.
Your palm found his chest, steadying yourself. He was too warm, too solid beneath you.
Then he looked up at you. Eyes darker. Focused. Not on what you were doing, but on you—like watching you fall apart on him was more powerful than anything else he could feel.
His hand rose, brushing up the length of your spine, fingers threading into your hair before tugging just enough to steal your breath again.
You weren’t sure when your head tipped back, or when your hands gripped his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to this moment. The edge between pleasure and collapse was thin now—barely holding.
His breath was ragged against your throat, each exhale growing more erratic, his hands no longer guiding but gripping—like he was trying to ground himself in you, like letting go too soon would ruin everything.
Soonyoung’s voice came low and strained against your skin, “Y/n—don’t stop.”
You didn’t plan to. Your rhythm faltered for half a second, hips stuttering from how tightly your body coiled around the sensation—but he was right there, his hand steady at the small of your back, keeping you close, keeping you moving.
Your foreheads touched. Sweat. Breath. Tension.
He looked at you—really looked. And for a beat, the air stopped. There was nothing but the heat of his palm at your waist, the tremble in your thighs, the way your name barely formed on his lips like a prayer or a warning.
And then it hit you—how close you were. How close he was. Every movement became desperate, sloppier. More like instinct than intent.
Your lips brushed his cheek, your body arching as your pulse surged, your voice catching in your throat. “Fuck—Soonyoung—”
That did it. His hands tightened, his body tensed, and in the space between control and surrender, you both tipped over the edge—together. Breathless. Silenced. Shaking.
For a few seconds, there was only the sound of your breathing. Tangled limbs. Quiet gasps. And the soft creak of the table beneath you. He didn’t speak. He just held you—one hand still at your back, the other cradling your waist like you might disappear if he let go too fast.
Your breath was still uneven, your limbs trembling slightly as the silence wrapped around you both like a warm, heavy fog. You rested against his chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, when his voice broke through.
Soft. Low. Like a secret he wasn’t ready to share but couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Resign.”
You blinked.
“Hand them your resignation.”
The words didn’t register at first—your mind too hazy, your body too loose. But when they did, your brows furrowed instinctively. You lifted your head just slightly, startled.
He was already watching you. Still inside this moment. Still bare and open and raw in a way he rarely allowed.
“I—what?” you whispered, breath catching again—but not from desire this time.
Soonyoung reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek. His touch was slow, almost reverent. And then he tilted your chin until your eyes met. His gaze wasn’t playful now. No teasing. No smug curl to his lips. Just quiet sincerity.
“I couldn’t watch you being humiliated like this,” he said. “Not after everything you’ve done. Not after everything you’ve fixed… for me.”
You felt it then. The way your throat tightened. The sharp sting behind your eyes. You didn’t even realize a tear had fallen until his thumb was already brushing it away, tender against your cheek like you’d break if he pressed too hard.
His fingers traced the curve of your face, slow, careful. You hated how gentle he was being—it unraveled you faster than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to be gentle. This wasn’t supposed to feel like he cared.
But he did. And that made it worse.
You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Tried to pull back the flood of emotion that had been simmering under your skin since the HR meeting—since the reassignment, the whispers, the humiliation you had to wear like perfume the minute you stepped into your new floor.
And now this. Soonyoung, who was never supposed to take anything seriously, was the one seeing you the clearest.
Your lip quivered. You bit down on it hard enough to taste metal, willing yourself to stay composed. But the second tear came. Then another. You looked away, ashamed of your silence, your vulnerability, your inability to respond.
“Y/n,” he said gently, pulling you closer, foreheads touching again. “If they don’t see your worth… leave. And I’ll help you find a better place.”
The weight of those words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
But your hand slid to his chest, curled softly in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto.
And for once, he didn’t ask anything more from you. He just stayed with you in this quiet, undone moment.
*
You didn’t mean to call anyone. You had told yourself you'd just shower, maybe eat, maybe sleep—but instead you found yourself curled up on the edge of your bed, still in your clothes, your phone pressed to your ear as it rang.
It was late. The kind of late that made everything feel heavier. The dim light from the kitchen gave the room a soft glow, but your phone pressed to your ear felt heavier than usual.
“I’m just… tired,” was all you said when Seungkwan picked up, his voice chipper at first—then cautious. He didn’t push. He never did. He let the silence fall, filling it with his presence, not questions.
There was a pause, long enough that you almost said “never mind.” Then your voice slipped through again, barely above a whisper.
“What do you think if I’m resigning?”
A beat. Then Seungkwan answered, calm and sincere. “I don’t mind. I mean, yeah—it’ll be hard to find something with the same value, same reputation. But if that’s what you want, I’ll support it. Always.”
You sighed, pressing your thumb against your temple. Your head hurt in the kind of way that wasn’t about lack of sleep—but a lack of peace.
“I don’t know, Seungkwan... I really don’t know.”
“Of course you’re clueless. You’ve been shoved around and put in situations where you had to survive. I understand,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Do you have any career plan? Is someone offering you a job?”
No. No one. Well— Soonyoung had said he’d help. Said it with conviction in that private moment like it was gospel. Like he meant every word.
But he was Kwon Soonyoung. A man who once asked if “ROI” was the name of a new intern. Who didn’t know how to schedule his own meetings without color-coded prompts you made for him. Who showed up to investor brunches with lipstick on his collar—your lipstick—and still made a joke out of it.
You couldn’t even trust him to send an attachment properly in an email. And now he was asking you to trust him with your life after this?
Your silence must’ve stretched too long, because Seungkwan spoke again. “Is it him?” That stopped your breath. You didn’t say his name. You didn’t have to. He knew.
“I don’t know what he promised you,” Seungkwan continued gently, “but if you’re holding on to that as your only parachute, make sure it’s not just… words.”
You closed your eyes. You wanted to believe him.bWanted to believe that Soonyoung meant it—that he would fight for you, that he saw everything you sacrificed for that label, that he wouldn’t let this end with you packing your things and being erased.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You didn’t know if it was belief… Or wishful thinking. And you were tired of hoping. You didn’t answer. Just let the silence fall again.
*
When Soonyoung stepped into his apartment, the first thing that hit him wasn’t the silence—but the scent. Something warm. Garlicky. Familiar. He paused by the door, blinking like he had to recalibrate. There was someone in his kitchen. You.
Wearing one of his aprons—badly tied—and frowning softly at the pot in front of you. The sleeves of your blouse were rolled up, and your hair was clipped messily at the back. You didn’t hear him come in right away, too focused on adjusting the stove and tapping at the edge of the box labeled KF Meal Kit –Kimchi Jjigae.
He chuckled, loosening his tie. You and these damn company products. It was the fifth time he’d seen you cooking them in the last month. At work. At home. He shrugged off his blazer, folded it neatly, then quietly walked to the kitchen. You looked up as he reached the counter, eyebrows raised and a small smile tugging at your lips.
You leaned a little on the counter, watching the pot begin to simmer. He stepped closer without thinking, hands finding your waist like they belonged there. You didn’t move. You didn’t stop him. If anything, your body softened beneath his touch, like it remembered the rhythm of standing this close.
Soonyoung exhaled quietly, pressing his forehead near your ttemple I miss you,” he murmured.
There was no teasing in it. No smug grin. Just honesty, spoken low and barely audible over the bubbling of the meal.
You blinked, the words catching you off guard—but not in a bad way. They melted into the air, sinking into the skin between his palms and your ribs. You didn’t respond immediately. You just leaned the tiniest bit into him, a silent answer in itself.
His thumb brushed over your hip, and he pulled you just slightly closer—not possessive, not rushed. Just… here. Present.
You tilted your head toward him slightly. “Dinner’s not even done yet and you’re already getting sentimental?”
Soonyoung chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder, “You in my kitchen is enough. Feels like I’ve already won.”
And for a moment, it was quiet. Dinner was long gone—plates in the sink, lights dimmed, and the two of you curled on the couch like gravity pulled your bodies together on instinct. The TV played something neither of you paid attention to. Just background noise to the slow rhythm of Soonyoung’s fingers trailing along your cheek, brushing the edge of your jaw, memorizing your face like it was the first time again.
You blinked, lazy from the warmth of his hold, when he spoke.
“I talked to Joshua hyung today.”
Your brow lifted. “Yeah?”
“He said there’s a manager position opening in his company. He’d like to see your resume.”
You turned toward him a little, eyes wide in disbelief. “Really?”
He smiled, nodding, looking far too proud for someone just casually bringing life-altering news. “Yeah… I told him about you. About how competent and sharp you are. He said he can’t wait to meet you.”
You stared at him. “That’s… unexpected.”
Soonyoung immediately pouted, his brows knitting together in that ridiculous way that never quite matched how tall and put-together he could look in a suit. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I wouldn’t come through?”
You chuckled under your breath, “No, it’s not that. I just…” you exhaled, “I didn’t expect you’d actually do it. I know you can, with your last name and network. But I guess a part of me thought… I was just someone who helped you with work.”
Soonyoung stared at you like you’d just said something blasphemous. Then sighed heavily and pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.
“You should know by now that you’re more than that, Y/n. Everyone sees it. Even Seungcheol hyung said you were—what did he say—ah, charismatic.”
You groaned, pressing your face briefly into his shoulder. “Don’t bring that up…”
Soonyoung chuckled, a little too amused. “What? It’s true. Remember that night he drove you home from the bar? You told him what you did—accidentally, if I recall—and he just went, ‘So you’re the one supervising Soonyoung? Ah… the annoying marketing manager, huh?’”
You sighed dramatically. “Great. That’s my legacy.”
“Sexy annoying marketing manager,” he corrected with a grin, pulling you closer.
“Shut up.”
He laughed harder now, contentment laced into every curve of his smile.
Then, a pause. Softer.
“You’re not mad?” he asked.
You looked up at him. “Mad?”
“For… helping you like this. I mean, I know you’re strong. I didn’t want to bruise your pride or make it seem like I thought you couldn’t land something on your own.”
You stared at him, heart clenching in that way it sometimes did when people said something too kind. Something too thoughtful.
“You’re competent. Smart. Efficient,” he said, as if repeating it to himself. “And I was worried you’d turn it down because you thought I was underestimating you. But I wasn’t. Not even a little.”
You blinked, then smiled, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.
“You’re cute, Soonyoung,” you murmured, fingers reaching up to pinch his cheek gently.
“Hey! I’m being serious!” he protested, squirming under your touch—but his grin betrayed him.
You leaned into him again, nestling under his chin as his arms instinctively wrapped tighter.
“I know you are,” you whispered. “And that’s why I might actually consider it.”
He didn’t answer. But the way his breath slowed, and the way his thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, said everything.
The TV murmured in the background—some drama neither of you were really watching—as the quiet between you stretched long and comfortably still. The couch dipped just slightly beneath your bodies, your fingers lazily tracing the hem of his sleeve. You were dangerously close to dozing off again in his warmth. Until—
“Soonyoung-ah?”
The sudden voice made you jolt so hard you lost balance. He turned his head sharply—just as you tried to sit up. Your knees caught the edge of the coffee table, he tried to grab your waist, you both fumbled—and then fell.
Hard.
The thud was loud, a tangle of limbs and fabric hitting the floor, followed by a stunned silence and a hissed curse from Soonyoung.
“Oh my—are you okay?!” came the voice again. It was closer now.
You froze, eyes wide. Soonyoung groaned beneath you. “Why didn’t you lock the damn door?” you whispered sharply as you sat up from his chest, trying to fix your shirt, your dignity already lost in the living room rug.
“I didn’t think I needed to!” he hissed back, rubbing the back of his head.
Then a pair of heels stepped into view.
“Oh,” said a woman with a well-maintained bob cut and too-perfect makeup. Her tone was pleasantly surprised, but her gaze was anything but subtle. “I… didn’t know you had company.”
You scrambled upright. “Hello—I'm sorry—I didn’t hear anyone come in—”
“Clearly,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Soonyoung stood, brushing off his slacks and walking past you like nothing happened. “You visit,” he said flatly.
His mother blinked. “I brought food. And I wanted to check on you.”
He walked toward the kitchen without glancing back. “I’m not twelve.”
She gave you a knowing glance and followed. “Still, you always forget to eat when you're under pressure. And you’re hosting. I had to make sure she wasn’t starving.”
You stiffened slightly. Soonyoung looked back at you, unreadable. “She ate.”
“I can see,” she said, eyes flicking toward the leftover meal kit container on the counter. “Microwave dinners. Very romantic.”
His mouth twitched. “It’s from the label.”
His mom looked at him, then at you, and smiled again, this time softer. “You must be the reason he’s actually showing up to board meetings.”
You opened your mouth, unsure what to say.
“Mom,” Soonyoung interjected, tone clipped. “You’ve delivered the soup. You’ve confirmed I haven’t died. Are you staying?”
She tilted her head slightly. “I can go. Don’t let me interrupt.” Her gaze lingered on the couch—on the crumpled blanket, the two glasses, the clear closeness—before she turned to the door.
“I’ll call you later, Soonyoung,” she added as she slipped her heels back on. “Nice to meet you, Miss…”
“Ji,” you supplied quickly.
“Miss Ji,” she echoed with a small smile before she stepped out, closing the door with an audible click.
Silence.
You turned to him, breath still uneven from both the fall and the mortification. “So that was your mom.”
“Yep.”
“She didn’t seem… warm.”
“She’s not.”
A pause. “She said she brought food.”
He rolled his eyes. “She’ll Venmo the maid to drop it off later.”
“…You okay?”
Soonyoung scratched the back of his head, then looked at you with a crooked grin. “Honestly? I’d rather fall again.”
You laughed. Loudly this time. And maybe—just maybe—it made the awkwardness a little easier to carry.
*
Your first day at Hong Finance went better than expected. The morning had been a whirlwind of handshakes, onboarding documents, and a glossy welcome kit with your name printed in soft gold on the folder. The office was sleek, everything glass and grey and expensive-smelling, but the people? Surprisingly warm. Joshua, your new Director, had personally introduced you to each team member, casually mentioning that you came highly recommended—without saying by who.
Though you had a guess. A certain someone who used to forget what KF Label even stood for.
You worked through the day with quiet diligence, letting your brain adjust to the faster pace, the bigger picture, and the knowledge that you weren’t being micromanaged by HR this time around. You weren’t running damage control. You were actually doing your job—and being respected for it.
It was 6:10 when you stepped out of the building, your heels clicking gently on the pavement. The golden haze of sunset stretched across the city skyline.
And right there, leaning against a black car with sunglasses perched atop his head, was Kwon Soonyoung.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine—tailored slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand in his pocket and the other lazily scrolling his phone. But the second he spotted you, he straightened up and pulled the door open.
“For the newly hired marketing manager of Hong Finance,” he grinned.
You raised an eyebrow as you walked up. “Look who’s playing chauffeur.”
“I prefer ‘supportive boyfriend who can finally say that title out loud.’” He gave you a dramatic bow before you slid into the passenger seat. “You worked hard. I’m proud of you.”
You chuckled as he got in, started the engine, and the two of you merged into the soft blur of city traffic. “So how was your day?”
He shrugged with a grin. “Better now. I was thinking of you the whole time. Could barely sit through my meeting without wondering if you were dying in there or thriving.”
“I’m thriving,” you smirked. “Try not to look so surprised.”
He glanced sideways at you, eyes softening, then turned back to the road. “You know, I meant it when I said I wanted to take you out tonight. Properly.”
You leaned your head against the seat, lips curving. “I know.”
He glanced at you again.
“And I meant it too,” you added, mischievous. “‘Finally growing up,’ huh?”
Soonyoung groaned playfully. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”
“Nope.”
It happened six months later. You weren’t expecting it. Not after all the teasing. Not after the jokes he made every time marriage came up, always with a sly grin and a "we’ll see" or a "why rush, we’re young, aren’t we?"
And certainly not on a regular Saturday afternoon, in the middle of folding laundry in his apartment, your hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing one of his old oversized shirts that still smelled like his cologne no matter how many times you washed it.
But maybe that was why it happened. Because you weren’t dressed up. There was no audience. No violin strings, no rooftop dinner. Just sunlight spilling through the windows, the quiet hum of domestic life, and the two of you surrounded by all the little pieces of your routine. Your world.
He stood behind you, not saying anything at first. Just watching. You felt his stare and turned around, sock in hand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Soonyoung tilted his head, lips quirking faintly. “I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He laughed softly, but didn’t look away. “I mean it.”
You waited.
“I was thinking,” he said again, this time quieter, “about how I used to think love was chaos. Fireworks. Like a storm you couldn’t control.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice.
“But you’re not chaos,” he went on, stepping closer. “You’re… steady. You’re grounding. You told me when I was being stupid. You stayed when it would’ve been easier to quit. You even learned to like our new meal kit.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “So now you’re confessing your undying love through carbs?”
“No,” he chuckled, then reached into his pocket. “I’m proposing through this.”
Your breath caught as you saw the small velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a ring so simple and beautiful it nearly took your breath away. No diamonds shouting for attention. Just a gold band with a small, elegant gem. The kind of thing someone would wear every day. Quiet. Constant.
Just like the love he’d built with you.
“I’m not good with a lot of things,” he admitted, voice trembling just slightly. “But I know I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want our dumb, quiet mornings. Our microwave dinners. You calling me an idiot when I deserve it. And maybe one day, you walking into my office again—but with my name.”
You stared at him, completely speechless. Then he laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to say yes now, by the way. I know your career’s still—”
“Yes.”
He paused. “Wait—what?”
You dropped the sock you were holding, stepping closer. “Yes, Kwon Soonyoung. You idiot.” His smile split wide as you tackled him in a hug, the ring box still clutched in his hand.
*
Meeting his parents was something you’d quietly prepared for, even if Soonyoung said you didn’t need to. “They’re not scary,” he promised with his usual shrug. “You met my mom. My dad’ll just talk about the stock market until someone stops him.”
Still, as you sat beside Soonyoung at the long dining table in their sleek Hannam-dong house—with its museum-level lighting and not a single speck of dust—you knew this wasn’t just any dinner.
His mother greeted you first, of course, in a flurry of perfume, pearls, and the kind of warmth that felt performative but not unkind.
“Oh, you’re getting prettier!!” she said, gripping your hands with both of hers. “Soonyoung was never this glowy, you know. He must be eating well.”
You smiled, bowed politely, and thanked her—twice. She seemed like someone who appreciated a bit of extra etiquette. She gave you a quick once-over—your outfit passed the silent inspection, thank God. then insisted you sit beside her son like you were already part of the family.
His father arrived late, after the wine was already poured and the soup already served.
He was tall, imposing, with the kind of sharp silence that made your posture straighten without thinking. His handshake was firm, his gaze sharper.
“You’re working in finance now, I heard?” he asked, cutting his steak slowly.
“Yes, sir. Hong Finance. I handle B2B marketing strategies under Director Hong Joshua.”
His father hummed, noncommittal. “I see. No family ties to the industry?”
You blinked, just once. “No, sir. I’m from Busan. My family runs a small printing business.”
Another hum.
Soonyoung glanced at you, eyes flicking in concern. You nudged his knee gently under the table—a silent it's fine. I got this.
The conversation moved, meandering through safe topics, until the elder Kwon brought up the label again.
“You know, the KF Label still has too many bleeding points. Sales growth is good, but not stable. I’m not convinced Soonyoung understands where it’s leaking,” he said bluntly. “You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”
Soonyoung opened his mouth, clearly trying to assemble something in his head. You could almost see him reaching for words, for numbers you knew he hadn’t looked at since last quarter.
But before the silence stretched too long, you calmly lifted your glass, smiled, and spoke.
“The margin inconsistencies in the semi-premium line have been narrowing, actually. Since February, we’ve scaled down redundant distribution channels and optimized the logistics route from our Cheonan facility. The recent push with ‘Heat-and-Meet’ expanded brand visibility with minimal promo spend.”
You placed your glass back down and added, with polite finality, “Soonyoung has been involved in all those strategy approvals. We’ve made it a point to streamline executive summaries so he can lead without getting buried in jargon.”
The table went quiet for a beat. His father looked at you properly now—eyes no longer cold, but assessing. Appraising. “Hm,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of the Cheonan streamlining.”
“I prepared the original logistics adjustment proposal,” you said with a slight smile. “But the final call was Soonyoung’s.”
A pause. Then, almost grudgingly, the elder Kwon nodded. “Impressive.”
Soonyoung gave you a look under the table—half grateful, half floored.
His mother clapped lightly. “You speak better about business than some of his uncles do, dear.”
You blushed politely and simply replied, “I just care about what I do, ma’am.”
His father said little else after that, but the look he gave Soonyoung as he excused himself from the table later carried something unfamiliar. Respect. Maybe for the first time.
And as you and Soonyoung helped clear the dishes together in the kitchen, his mother called from behind you with a small, satisfied smile:
“You’re already helping him become a better man, Y/n.”
You just bumped your shoulder into his and whispered with a smirk, “Glad someone finally noticed.”
*
The revolving glass doors of KF Label glided open with a quiet sigh as you stepped inside, heels tapping steadily against the pristine marble floor. The lobby hadn’t changed—still sterile, still polished, still smelling faintly of lavender diffuser and corporate ambition.
But you had. Not Ji Y/n, the former marketing manager. You were now Kwon Y/n. The name settled differently on everyone’s tongue now. Especially here, where whispers spread faster than memos.
You nodded at familiar faces—staff from various departments, even the security guard who once complimented your meal-prep lunches. Some smiled with genuine warmth, others with thinly veiled curiosity. And a few didn’t bother to hide their surprise.
Your steps slowed only when you reached the seventh floor. There, near the meeting room, you saw him. Kim Mingyu. He looked up from a file he was reviewing, pausing mid-page when he saw you. His expression didn’t change much—no shock, no smile. Just a polite flicker of his brows. You offered a small, courteous smile and bowed slightly. He returned the gesture with the same practiced civility. That was all.
It was a month after your resignation when you’d found out through Dokyeom in a hesitant voice over a coffee meeting, that it was Mingyu who had filed the HR report. The report that cost you your role. Since then, there’d been no real confrontation. No apology. Just stiff smiles across event halls and neutral nods across meetings.
Jun, Soonyoung’s secretary, greeted you the moment he saw you approach. He looked much livelier than he did during your era of damage control.
“Y/n,” he beamed, standing quickly and smoothing his tie. “You look amazing, as always.”
You offered a gentle smile. “Is he available?”
Jun nodded, already walking to the heavy door. “Just finished a call. I’ll let him know.”
He knocked once and pushed the door open with a practiced hand.
“Sir,” he said with a knowing grin, “your wife is here.”
There was a pause, then a familiar voice from inside, low and warm with the tone he reserved only for you.
“Let her in.”
And just like that, you stepped through the door—leaving behind the past titles, the old pain, and the fractured stares.
You weren’t here to prove anything anymore.
You were here as Kwon Y/n—his partner, in more ways than one.
Soonyoung stood the moment you entered, his face lighting up with that boyish grin that never failed to soften you. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled, and the stress lines on his forehead were deeper than usual.
Still, he reached you first—fingers brushing yours before he gently guided you toward the couch like you were something precious.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked, sitting close, knees turned fully toward you.
You tilted your head, teasing, “What would you have done if I told you?”
“Prepared something,” he said dramatically, eyes twinkling. “Like a red carpet. You’re a star here, baby.”
You let out a soft laugh, brushing your hand against his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Only for you.” He leaned his head against your shoulder then, a deep sigh escaping from him as his whole body relaxed. “Have you had lunch?” you asked quietly, resting your cheek on his head.
He shook his head. “No time. This anniversary event… the product launch, five proposals due by tomorrow—” he exhaled sharply, motioning vaguely to his chaotic desk. “I’m going crazy. If you hadn’t walked in, I might’ve actually curled under that table and disappeared.”
You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I took a half-day off.”
His head lifted slightly. “Why? Still feeling fatigue?”
You nodded, pressing your lips together. “Yeah. And I went to the doctor earlier.”
That made him sit up straighter, concern painting his face. “You should’ve come home. Why didn’t you say anything? Why are you visiting me if you’re not feeling well?”
Instead of answering right away, you pulled a neatly folded document from your bag and handed it to him.
His brows furrowed as he took it. “Wait—this… is this what I think it is?”
“Open it.”
Soonyoung unfolded the paper slowly, eyes scanning over the lines until they landed on one sentence that made everything around him blur.
His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. His hands trembled just enough for you to notice, the document still in his grip.
“I’m—” he blinked, voice rough with disbelief. “I’m going to be a dad?”
You nodded, your own breath catching. “Yeah. We’re… we’re going to be parents, Kwon Soonyoung.”
For a second, he just stared.
And then he laughed—a soft, breathless sound of pure joy—as he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest with a mix of awe and something almost like reverence.
“You’re everything,” he whispered. “I swear, you are.”
“I’m telling Jun I’m going home. Everything can wait until tomorrow.” Soonyoung stood up with a spark in his eyes after pulling you into one last firm hug.
You opened your mouth to protest—“Soonyoung, your schedule—”
But he already had his phone to his ear, spinning half toward his desk while still watching you like he couldn’t stand looking away for too long.
“Jun. Yeah. Cancel everything for the rest of the day. Postpone the internal review, shift the client call. Send a memo that the director is off-duty. No, not sick—in love.” He grinned at you while Jun, somewhere across the floor, probably died a little. “You can blame the most beautiful woman in my life.”
You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to burst out laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic,” he said, putting his phone down and coming back to you. “I’m in love. And apparently, I’m going to be a dad, which means I have very important priorities now.”
He helped you up gently, his hands warm on your arms. “Let’s go home, baby.”
You smiled, heart full. “Okay.”
As the two of you stepped out of the office hand in hand, the corridor lights overhead felt softer. Familiar faces turned, surprised, and smiled—some knowingly, some with wide eyes.
But you didn’t care.
Not as he walked beside you, fingers laced tightly in yours, saying things like “I’m buying dinner. No—wait, I’m cooking! No, I’m ordering and cooking!”
Hii its me again i think hoshi lol I'M NOT SURE IF HE FITS 🥹🥹 YOU CAN PICK ANYONE THO!!!
Welcome to the Family, Soonyoung!!! || Kwon Soonyoung
Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung × Choi Y/N
Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Crack, Seventeen Chaos
Summary: Dating your leader’s younger sister is already dangerous territory—but for Hoshi, it’s pure entertainment. Ever since he and Y/N made things official, the Seventeen members have made it their personal mission to tease both him and Seungcheol mercilessly.
A.n: Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, comments and don't forget to follow for more stories like this—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys 💖💖
And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups
M.list
Seungcheol should’ve seen it coming.
The signs were all there—the way Hoshi always volunteered to pick Y/N up from the train station when she visited, how he suddenly became very invested in making sure the dorm was clean when she came over, and most importantly, the way he looked at her like she was the best thing since tiger plushies.
And yet, Seungcheol had somehow convinced himself it was just Hoshi being Hoshi.
Until today. Until Y/N casually dropped the bomb over dinner.
"Oh, by the way, Soonyoung and I are dating."
The chopsticks in Seungcheol’s hand snapped.
The entire room went silent.
Then. Chaos.
"OH MY GOD, IT'S TRUE?" Seungwan screeched, standing up so fast that his chair nearly fell over. "I KNEW IT! JOSHUA-HYUNG, YOU OWE ME 20,000 WON!"
Joshua sighed, pulling out his wallet. "I was just being optimistic for Cheol."
"Hyung," Dino looked at Seungcheol with big eyes, filled with equal parts concern and amusement. "Are you okay? You’re gripping your spoon like you’re about to throw it at someone."
"I might throw it at someone," Seungcheol muttered darkly, glaring daggers at Hoshi, who was beaming like he had just won the lottery.
"Cheol," Jeonghan grinned, resting his chin on his palm. "How does it feel knowing Hoshi might be your future brother-in-law?"
Seungcheol groaned. "Why are we already talking about marriage?!"
"Because," Mingyu smirked, "we know Hoshi. The moment he decides he likes something, he never let go. Just look at his obsession with tigers."
Hoshi, still grinning ear to ear, nodded proudly. "That's right! I love tigers. And now, I love Y/N. So basically, she’s my favorite tiger now."
Seungcheol visibly cringed. "I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that."
"Oh, you’ll be hearing a lot worse now that we’re family," Hoshi teased, nudging him.
Unfortunately for Seungcheol, the teasing did not stop there.
The members had an entire field day with this information, and it was clear they weren’t going to let it go anytime soon.
At breakfast, DK sat next to Seungcheol with a bright smile.
"Hyung," he said sweetly, "would you like me to make you some eggs? You must be so stressed about Hoshi becoming your brother-in-law soon."
"He's NOT my brother-in-law," Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his face.
"Yet," Jun added helpfully, making the entire table burst into laughter.
Seungcheol shot daggers at Y/N, who was enjoying her tea as if she wasn’t the reason his life was crumbling. "You planned this, didn’t you?"
Y/N smirked. "You should just accept it, Oppa. It’s happening whether you like it or not."
Hoshi leaned over, grinning. "Yeah, Cheol-ah~ Just think, now we can have matching family pajamas at Christmas!"
Seungcheol let out a suffering sigh while the members lost their minds at the mental image.
During practice, Seungcheol really should’ve known the members would take things to the next level.
As they ran through their choreography, Minghao suddenly called out, "Hoshi-hyung, be careful! If you get hurt, Y/N-noona will scold us!"
Hoshi gasped dramatically, holding his chest. "You’re right! I have to be extra careful now that I’m a future family man."
"FUTURE FAMILY MAN?!" Seungcheol shouted.
"Hyung, you should be proud," Vernon said, straight-faced. "You’re about to gain a great brother-in-law."
"I'm about to lose my mind," Seungcheol corrected.
"But hyung, just think," Woozi said, barely hiding his smirk. "Now you and Hoshi will be tied together forever. Every single holiday, family event, weddings—"
Seungcheol groaned loudly.
"OH!" Seungkwan clapped his hands excitedly. "Cheol-hyung, when Hoshi and Y/N get married, you have to make a wedding speech!"
"I REFUSE!"
"But hyung," Hoshi pouted, batting his eyelashes. "Don’t you want to give a speech about how honored you are to have me as a brother?"
"I’d rather give a speech at my own funeral."
The final straw came when the members actually changed Hoshi’s contact name in the group chat.
Seungcheol woke up to his phone blowing up with notifications. Groggily, he opened the Seventeen group chat, only to see:
[ Seungcheol's Brother-in-law🐯]: Good morning, Hyung-nim! ☀️
[Mingyu]: LOLOLOL NOT THE ‘HYUNG-NIM’ 😭💀
[Jeonghan]: Should we change the chat name to "Seungcheol’s Family + Dino"?
[DK]: YESSS 😂😂
Seungcheol let out a scream and immediately left the chat.
After Seungcheol stormed out of the group chat last night, he had foolishly hoped they would forget about it.
He was wrong.
At exactly 8 AM, Jeonghan added him back.
And the first message he saw was:
[ Seuncheol's Brother-in-law🐯]: Good morning, Hyung-nim~!! Did you sleep well? ☀️
Seungcheol closed the chat. He refused to deal with this.
Then, his phone rang.
It was Joshua.
With a deep sigh, he answered. "What?"
"Hyung," Joshua said, barely holding in his laughter, "it’s rude to ignore family."
Seungcheol hung up.
That evening, Seungcheol finally got a break from practice—only to walk into the dorm and find Hoshi and Y/N sitting at the dining table with his parents.
He froze. "What is going on?"
"Family dinner!" Hoshi grinned. "I wanted to spend more time with my future in-laws!"
Seungcheol’s mother beamed. "Soonyoung is such a sweet boy, Cheol-ah. You should be happy for them."
"Should I?" Seungcheol muttered under his breath.
His father, clearly enjoying this way too much, patted Hoshi’s shoulder. "We always wanted a son-in-law who could bring energy to the family!"
Seungcheol pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. Just great."
Hoshi, the little menace, leaned closer with the most smug smile. "Hyung, want me to set your plate? I gotta take care of my family now~"
Seungcheol wanted to scream.
After the family dinner, the group chat exploded again.
[Seungkwan]: GUYS, HOSHI HAD DINNER WITH CHEOL-HYUNG’S FAMILY AHAHAHA 😭😭
[Minghao]: It’s official. He’s in.
[DK]: Cheol-hyung, when’s the wedding? 👀
[Woozi]: Should we start preparing a Family Concert? Hoshi can perform a tiger-themed wedding song.
[Seungcheol's Brother-in-law 🐯]: Y/N SAID I CAN CALL HER MOM "EOMONIM" NOW!!! 😆🎉🎉
[Jun]: Wow. He’s really securing his spot.
[Jeonghan]: Cheol-ah, you should start looking for a matching couple outfit for family holidays.
Seungcheol threw his phone across the bed.
It happened too fast.
One moment, the members were just sitting in the dorm’s living room, casually chatting after practice. The next, Hoshi had Y/N’s face cupped in his hands and—
"YAH!"
Seungcheol launched off the couch so fast, he nearly tripped over his own feet.
The room erupted.
"OH MY GOD—" Seungkwan clapped a hand over his mouth.
Dino screamed.
Joshua wheezed. "He actually did it?!"
Jun fell to the floor in laughter. "Legendary."
Meanwhile, Seungcheol was in big brother crisis mode.
"KWON SOONYOUNG!"
Hoshi, still grinning like the absolute menace he was, turned to look at Seungcheol. "Yes, Hyung-Nim?"
"DON’T HYUNG-NIM ME, YOU JUST KISSED MY SISTER—"
"She kissed me back," Hoshi interrupted.
Y/N, completely unbothered, nodded. "I did."
Seungcheol wanted to pass out. "THAT DOESN’T HELP!"
Jeonghan, enjoying this way too much, leaned over to Mingyu. "Five seconds before Cheol explodes."
"Three," Mingyu corrected.
"TWO—"
"YAH!" Seungcheol pointed directly at Hoshi. "YOU—STAY FIVE FEET AWAY FROM HER AT ALL TIMES!"
Hoshi pouted. "But Eomonim said I can sit next to her at dinner—"
"NOT IN MY HOUSE!" Seungcheol turned to Y/N. "And you! How could you date him? Of all people?*"
Y/N blinked. "He makes me happy, Oppa."
The room went silent.
For a second, Seungcheol felt his brotherly rage waver—but only for a second.
Because Hoshi chose that exact moment to pull Y/N closer and say, "Aww, jagi~ tell him how much you love me."
Seungcheol lunged.
The members screamed.
Next day, as the members sat around watching a movie, Seungcheol turned to Y/N with a tired sigh.
"Are you sure you wanna be with him?"
Y/N laughed, intertwining her fingers with Hoshi’s. "Absolutely."
Hoshi flashed his signature goofy smile. "Cheol-ah, don’t worry! I’ll take good care of your sister."
Seungcheol exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "I don’t know if I should be touched or terrified."
"Both," Woozi said without missing a beat.
Hoshi, completely unbothered, wrapped an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulder and grinned. "Get ready for a lifetime of me, brother-in-law!"
trope: six of crows au, romance. starring: soonyoung as both jesper fahey and inej ghafa(at times) and jeonghan as kaz brekker
description: Kwon Soonyoung, Hoshi to most, is impossible in every way. Charming, reckless and endlessly alive, he's the gravity you can't fight.
warnings: blood, injuries, multiple weapons mentioned, reader is a bit down bad, soonyoung is a flirt, not exactly a canonical retelling but probably does have a few spoilers. heavily inspired by the grishaverse series/soc by leigh bardugo! most of the characters do not belong to me, and neither does the worldbuilding. the glossary is at the end!
w/c: 8.4k
a/n: this is by far the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written :,) soc and the grishaverse is one of my all time favs so this was so fun and i think i was also a bit inspired by leigh's way of writing. as always thank you rae ( @nerdycheol ) for beta-ing and i hope you guys like this one!!
THE SLAT SMELLS OF SWEAT, BLOOD AND DUST KICKED UP FROM THE BRAWL OUTSIDE.
Chan and Junhui are sprawled across the floor, arms folded over aching ribs, grimaces stretching across their bruised faces. A couple of others nurse smaller cuts, muttering curses as you move between them with water, tinctures and antiseptic in hand.
Jeonghan passes you, perfectly unscathed, leaning on his cane with a small, low grumble. The handle is a carved crow’s head, sharp and sleek in the lamplight. His black leather gloves shine as his fingers curl around it. “Useless lot,” he mutters, voiced just for you, and disappears up the crooked staircase toward his office.
It almost has an affectionate edge to it, so you assume they won and move onto the next.
You turn to the man perched on one of the tables in the room. Everyone in Ketterdam knows him as Hoshi, the sharpshooter with a grin that makes trouble feel like a game, Jeonghan's right-hand man, the spider, at times. But you are one of the very few to know the name given to him by his father—Soonyoung. And you might just be the only one who calls him that.
Soonyoung sits a bit restlessly, curling into himself, his clothes dark with dirt and maybe blood, judging by the way the sleeve of his shirt sticks near his shoulder. His knuckles are already raw, but he taps them idly against the wood, a restless rhythm that somehow makes him look smaller and wilder all at once.
When he meets your eyes, his grin flares up, all crooked charm and a spark of mischief that makes your chest twist for no good reason. “You can fuss over everyone else first,” he says lightly. “Go on. I’ll wait.”
You throw him an exasperated glance, because by all logic he should be the first one patched up—he has the most damage, and yet there he sits, stubborn as ever, chest rising and falling with that ridiculous grin. But once he makes up his mind, he won’t budge. You huff softly, shaking your head, and turn back to Chan and Junhui, muttering under your breath, “Unbelievable,” as you kneel beside them.
Chan groans as you rub a tincture gently against a cut near his eyebrow, wincing at your touch. "The Dime Lions almost got us good. Would've been worse if Hoshi and Jeonghan hadn't arrived in time."
You hum softly, twisting a cloth to dab at the blood. "Jeonghan looked perfectly fine, though."
"When does he not?" Junhui sighs from beside you.
You move between them, rubbing, tying, swabbing, humming low to yourself to keep the rhythm steady. Junhui mutters complaints with every touch; Chan flinches, winces, but eventually leans into your hands, grumbling soft thanks. You work quickly but deliberately, taking care to keep the bandages snug, the tinctures applied evenly, and the smaller cuts cleaned so they don’t get infected.
By the time you’ve finished with the last of the others, Soonyoung rises carefully. He doesn't show his pain—he's far too egoistical to do so—but there's a stiffness to his movements that doesn't usually belong to him, a subtle reminder of the fight outside.
You expect him to stay put, but instead, he almost silently walks over to the staircase before looking at you from over his shoulder.
The others don’t bat an eye; this is routine. Hoshi has a way of slipping through rooms and hallways like he belongs everywhere at once, so him asking to go up to yours isn't too surprising.
You shake your head slowly before dragging your feet towards him. He begins to climb slowly, and your brows furrow when you hear him grunt at the slightly taller steps on the second floor.
"You know," you murmur once you reach your room in one of the corners of the third floor, opposite to Jeonghan's office, "you could have just stayed downstairs and saved yourself the trouble of walking all the way up here."
Soonyoung smirks, leaning against the wall beside your door, his unhurt shoulder brushing the frame. “And miss being privately fussed over? Not a chance. Besides,” he adds, voice dropping once he realizes Jeonghan might hear him through the thin walls of the Slat, "I like the view from up here.”
You roll your eyes, pushing past him into the small, cramped room, the shadows stretching across the worn floorboards. “The view?” you repeat, though your pulse quickens at the way he tilts his head, grin still crooked, and watches you move.
He slips in behind you, silent and fluid, as if the room itself has swallowed him whole. “Yes. I didn't understand why Jeonghan would give away the room with the best view to you, but you're a pretty, pretty girl. So I get it now."
You freeze a fraction, caught between annoyance and that fluttering twist in your chest. "Shut up, Soonyoung. And take your shirt off."
He laughs, a bright, loud sound that immediately forces the irritated scowl on your lips into an involuntary smile. "Only for you, darling."
You glance away, cheeks warming despite yourself, and pretend to look for a needle and thread, or bandages, or—whatever the hell you need to patch him up right now. Your face feels a bit hot, and you doubt that you are falling sick.
You huff, rolling your eyes again, but your hands reach for the hem of his shirt anyway. He obliges with a theatrical flourish, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the small chair in the corner. His shoulder is bruised, a shallow graze where the bullet glanced off him, but nothing too deep. You notice the tattoo that arcs across his upper chest—the Dregs’ emblem, a sleek crow perched atop and drinking from a cup, ink dark and sharp against his skin.
“Hold still,” you murmur, kneeling beside him. Soonyoung's skin is warm beneath your palm, and it takes all of your self control to stop your hands from running all over him.
He hums low, the sound vibrating in his chest and brushing against you like a tease. “Careful, healer. I might start enjoying this.”
"Don't you dare," you warn, an edge of worry in your voice. "You are my most frequented member and I would rather not see your face for longer intervals of time."
It's a lie. Okay, maybe a half-lie. You think you would rather lose all your money at the Emerald Palace and then be pushed into the West Stave than not be graced by his sharp, tiger-like eyes and soft-looking lips. But you would also appreciate it if he stopped showing up in front of you all beaten and broken, for once.
Soonyoung grins wordlessly, but the way he tilts his head and watches your hands move makes it clear he’s enjoying the attention.
"It’s not funny,” you say, voice clipped, “I'm concerned. And don’t get any ideas.”
He lets out a soft chuckle, leaning slightly closer so his breath brushes your ear. “Concern, eh? Sounds dangerously like caring.”
You push him away reluctantly, and he smiles like he saw that one coming.
"You want to be my plus-one to the Crow Club tonight, darling?" He drawls out when you let him get up, sauntering over to his discarded shirt.
"Oh, for Saint's sake, go get a new shirt!" You complain as you put your things back into their places. "And Soonyoung, don't make me lock you in here. Will you stay back for once and have a quiet night?"
"Where's the fun in that?" He retorts, turning to the window in your room as he puts his shirt back on. You try not to stare as the muscles on his back ripple with the movement. "I don’t want to go into my room right now.”
“You could ask Jeonghan for a shirt, then,” you suggest, tugging a clean towel from the small stack.
He shakes his head, dramatically. “I’d rather be shot in the heart ten times."
You groan, flopping onto the edge of your bed, hands on your face. “Unbelievable. You are so reckless, Soonyoung. Honestly, your gambling tendencies alone are going to get you killed one day.”
He laughs lowly, and leans down, brushing a light kiss against your cheek. “I’ll take my chances,” he murmurs, voice soft, almost intimate.
And before you can even register it, he's out of the door with a skip in his step, whistling to a random tune.
“Try not to worry too much, healer. I always come back.”
You roll your eyes again and pray to god that you don't have to patch him up soon.
Obviously, Ketterdam is not a place where prayers are heard.
When Soonyoung shows up at your door again three nights later, you think back on the time when he first found out you were half-Grisha. A half-healer.
He had come to you with a split lip and blood drying across his chin like he had walked through an alley with his face instead of shoes.
“You want me to believe the stones fought back?” you had muttered, pulling the door shut behind him before anyone else could see.
“They’re jealous,” he had answered, grinning even though it split the cut wider. “You should’ve seen the way I landed. Poetry in motion.”
You had sighed, dragged him by the wrist to sit, and pressed two fingers against his jaw. The pulse of your power had risen sharp and quick, the familiar sting up your arms. His breath had hitched when the warmth spread across his mouth, skin stitching itself back together in seconds.
“Next time, keep the poetry to yourself,” you had told him, pulling back.
“Darling,” he had said, leaning in just enough that you had felt the brush of his shoulder, “you’d miss me if I didn’t show up looking tragic.”
The following night, it had been his hand—knuckles already purple and swollen.
“I told you to stop punching tables when you lose.”
“I wasn’t losing,” he had replied, settling onto the chair like it was his throne. “Just expressing myself. It was a very tense round.”
“Tense,” you had echoed, rolling your eyes. You could feel the faint thrum of his cells beneath your palm, the ache folding in on itself until the bruise melted away. You had been careful to keep your touch brisk, professional. He had still watched like you had just pulled a miracle from thin air. "Tell Jeonghan to stop giving you money to gamble away in the Crow Club."
"It's what brings the others in." He had reasoned. “You’ve got to look like you’re enjoying it.”
“You can act,” you had suggested. “You don’t have to actually gamble. That’s what Minghao does.”
Soonyoung shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”
By the end of the week, he had leaned in your doorway with a thin scratch running along his cheekbone.
“That one’s real,” he had insisted before you could speak. “Someone didn’t like the way I smiled.”
“Someone finally had sense,” you muttered, tugging him closer by the chin. He hadn’t flinched when your thumb grazed the scrape, hadn’t moved except to tip his head obediently. The mark had faded. His smile hadn’t.
And then it had become routine.
Soonyoung had appeared every other night with something new—excuses as wild as the bruises themselves. “Fell off a chair.” “Tripped chasing one of the Black Tips.” “The dock was so slippery that I hit my head against a lamppost before falling into the water.” Each one had been delivered with that crooked smile, each one daring you to call him out.
You hadn’t. Because beneath the absurdity had lain the truth: he just kept coming back.
And you kept letting him.
Sometimes you had shaken from the effort, hands trembling as you knit bone or drew the ache out of his muscles. Sometimes your vision had blurred, dark spots sparking at the edge, but you had pressed on because where else were you supposed to practice? If not here, then where else in Ketterdam, where being even half-Grisha was the quickest way to end up drowned in the harbour or sold to a brothel.
Soonyoung had never said a word about it. He had just sat still—which for him might as well have meant reverent—and let you work.
One night, he had pushed through the door holding his ribs, his shirt soaked dark and his eyes downcast. This time, there had been no flippant excuse. No shining teeth.
You had almost faltered when you saw how deep it was. Could you fix this with your weak powers?
“Soonyoung,” you had whispered, already pulling him down to the floor.
“Don’t look like that.” His voice had been thin but steady. “It’s nothing I can’t walk off.”
“You’d bleed out in the street if you tried.”
Your hands had pressed flat against his side. Power had burned up your arms, sharper than it had ever been. The wound had resisted, fighting against the pull, and you had bitten down on the inside of your cheek until the copper taste filled your mouth. Soonyoung’s jaw had tensed, but he hadn’t moved. Not even when you had swayed forward, breath shallow.
The skin had knit slower than usual, your strength bleeding with it. By the time the wound had closed, you had been trembling, head spinning.
“Hey.” His hand had come up, brushing your cheek with his thumb. His palm had been warm, grounding. “You’re getting stronger.”
You had almost laughed at the irony—you had felt like you’d been broken in half—but the way he had said it, quiet and proud, had lodged somewhere deep.
You had pulled back, pretended you hadn’t heard it, shoved the bloodied cloth into his hand. “Get a new shirt before Jeonghan sees you. Or better—don’t let Jeonghan see you at all.”
Soonyoung’s smile had come back, slower this time, softer around the edges.
Today, Soonyoung walks in looking almost unharmed.
"Saints, save me," you mutter under your breath before rising to meet him at the door, "what is it today?"
He shoots a slightly offended look at you. "Ouch, what a way to greet a lonely man."
His palms slip into the pockets of his trousers when he leans against your door, pulling out the small stack of cards that he keeps on him at all times. He begins to lazily shuffle them before looking back up at you.
"Wanna grab waffles? Or maybe even hutspot? Aren't you hungry?"
Your jaw slackens. He's been away the entire day. How did he know you were up here for most of it? But you nod quietly and follow him out.
Jeonghan walks out of his office at the same time, closing the door shut behind him. He glances at the two of you with a bored look.
“Hoshi,” he says, voice rasping like stone against stone, “don’t forget you’re meant to handle the docking issue before sundown.” His eyes flick to you, sharp as a blade, like he knows exactly where this is going.
“Mm,” Soonyoung hums, already snapping his deck of cards into a fan and bowing in mock politeness. “Sure thing, boss.”
But he turns to you, eyes glinting with mischief and jerks his chin at the stairwell. When Jeonghan walks up to you guys near the stairs, cane striking the floorboards with that familiar thud, Soonyoung reaches out to pat his shoulder, albeit a bit hesitantly.
"First down buys all of us breakfast on Sunday!" He states before grabbing your hand and pulling you down the stairs.
You barely register the annoyed grumble that Jeonghan lets out over the laughter bubbling in your own throat. "That was mean."
"Well, he's mean too."
"The errand—"
“Errand later,” he insists, feet thudding against the steps as the two of you tumble down together, skipping two at a time. Your laughter escapes before you can stop it, half disbelief, half thrill, and by the time you glance back, Jeonghan is still at the top landing, cane planted, watching with that cool, narrowed stare.
He’ll make Soonyoung pay for this later, no doubt. But for now, you let yourself get dragged out into the street, the sound of Soonyoung’s laughter mixing with your own, leaving the man upstairs to limp his way down alone.
The Crow Club isn’t meant to be quiet, not ever, but tonight the noise is different.
It isn’t the sound of desperate men calling out bets or coins clattering against green felt, but laughter, the sharp ring of glasses meeting in toasts, the swell of voices that don’t have to pretend they aren’t having fun. Somehow, Jeonghan has allowed it—though “allowed” might be a generous word. He’s seated in the farthest booth, cane propped against the table, expression cut from glass. Every so often, someone catches the glint of his eyes and lowers their voice like they’ve been caught stealing. But the rest of the room ignores him easily.
You’re planted in the middle of it, right where Soonyoung wants you. His arm is thrown over your shoulders, his weight heavy against you in that way that’s almost suffocating but also strangely protective. He leans into you like you’re the only stable thing in the room, though the mirth bubbling out of him suggests otherwise.
His other hand works without pause, fingers pulling the stack of cards from his pocket, riffling them together, letting them snap sharp into the air. The sound of clean flips cuts through the noise now and then, like he’s brought out a bird from his pocket.
Chan is half-shouting something at him, something about how he’s lucky the last job didn’t get him killed, and Soonyoung only grins wider. He tilts his head back toward you like he’s asking if you heard that, if you’re also in on the joke of his survival. You don’t answer—your lips twitch, but you keep it to yourself.
“Do you ever put those cards down?” Seungkwan asks from across the table, raising his glass. He’s flushed from drink, his smile sharper than usual. “Or are they stitched to your fingers?”
Soonyoung pauses his shuffle, slides one card free, then holds it up between two fingers so the black and white back gleams in the low light. “These? They’re not just cards, sweetheart. They’re stories. You wouldn’t ask someone to put down their memories, would you?”
That earns him a chorus of groans and laughter, but Seungkwan only narrows his eyes. “Saints, you’re impossible. Give me one then. If they’re so full of meaning, what does mine say?”
The room turns. Heads tilt, attention shifts, because Soonyoung loves an audience and they all know it. His grin softens into something almost serious as he fans the deck wide, studying the spread like it holds the fate of everyone present. His fingers flick and he draws out a card, sliding it across the table until it lands in front of Seungkwan.
“The jack of spades,” he says with a flourish. “Because you talk too much, and somehow it always gets you into more trouble than your blade does.”
Seungkwan snorts, but he picks up the card anyway, tucking it into his vest pocket with mock reverence. “Not wrong,” he admits.
The game spreads quickly. Vernon demands one, then Minghao, then someone else. Each card that leaves his hand goes with a quick barb or observation that makes the recipient groan or laugh or stare at him a little too long like maybe he’s not joking at all.
And then, without warning, his arm tightens around you. The deck shifts in his palm until there’s only one card left between his fingers, and he turns it over with deliberate slowness, his lips splitting far too wide for anything good to come out of them.
“This one,” he says, holding the card just out of your reach. The queen of hearts glows deep red in the lamplight. He twirls it once, knuckles brushing your jaw in the motion, before sliding it down to your palm. "Fits you the best."
The table reacts exactly how he wants it to—half groans, half whistles, Seungkwan shouting “Jeez, have some shame!” while Chan bangs the table like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week.
You roll your eyes, palms closing over the card once before flicking it back at him, but your face is warmer than you’d like. “You’re insufferable.”
His mouth opens in mock-offence, hand coming up to his heart as he dramatically falls back. "Darling?"
But your laughter breaks through, wide and unguarded, and when you shove him harder this time, he only resists and tips toward you like gravity itself prefers it.
Soon enough, the table goes back to its noise, the sweep of cards and coins and words filling the air again, and that’s when you notice it. Slowly and quietly, between the blur of glasses lifted and dice rolled, you see what no one else does.
Every card he’s handed out tonight—jack of spades, nine of diamonds, king of hearts—they’ve all had one thing in common. Not a single club among them. Not one black clover slipping across the table, not one tucked into someone’s pocket or waved like a joke.
The deck sits light in his hand again, like it always does, but suddenly it looks different. Lopsided. Intentional.
There are a few things to Soonyoung that one can only learn with time—the way he keeps tallies of lost bets, the way he counts the number of exits in a room before anything else, how he never drinks more than two glasses but can always act drunk enough. How sometimes, he gets so restless that his cards end up cutting tiny little slits that you heal with your mind, while wishing you could put your lips to them and fix it instead.
You suppose this is just one of them too. Time will tell.
West Stave is alive long before you even step into it.
Lanterns in red and green and sharp violet swing from the eaves of gambling dens, the light glancing off the slick cobblestones that never quite dry. Hawkers sing their wares in the pauses between laughter and curses; perfumed girls in silks lean out of balconies with painted mouths and painted smiles.
Masked figures playing the characters from the Komedie Brute adorn the crowds like always. You almost bump into a man—dressed like Master Crimson—who is in the middle of throwing fake kruge at the passerbys.
You stay close to Soonyoung, though not because he’s asked you to. Here, more than anywhere, he moves differently. In the Barrel proper, his stride is always restless, impatient, as though he might climb a rooftop on a whim just to see how far he could look. But the Stave is a stage, and he puts on his best impression of an actor. His shoulders are loose, his smile easy, the kind of reckless shine that tells onlookers nothing except that he is comfortable where no one else should be.
And yet, you see it: the way his eyes flick to the edges of alleys, the way his hand drifts sometimes toward the gleam of his Zemeni-made revolver’s pearl handle at his hip. A gift from his father, and unlike the rest of him—loud, brash, always moving—those guns have weight. They remind everyone watching that Hoshi's easy-going nature is, most of the time, only ever an act.
People don’t linger once they recognize him. You catch the way eyes dart, then fall away.
It’s not him alone that earns the reputation, but also the name stitched into the Barrel these last years: the Dregs, the gang Jeonghan has carved into something larger than rumour. You feel the ripple of it every time someone’s gaze slides over you and then flicks, sharp and certain, to your arm, as though searching for ink you don’t bother showing.
Most of them know Hoshi's name, and for you that is enough. Your tattoo need not be seen, but the ink at your waist tingles at the thought anyway. You remember the sting of the needle, Soonyoung's hand steadying your waist while you forced yourself not to flinch. It has never felt more like both a shield and a target.
Soonyoung doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t have to. His hand hovers, close enough to brush your sleeve as he steers you through a group of drunken sailors. His laugh rings out like a coin tossed on a table, easy and reckless, but you can see the edge of his jaw tightening when someone lets their eyes linger too long.
“First stop,” he says lightly, pulling you out of your thoughts, "Jeonghan wants that apothecary two stores down paid in full. Two crates of…I can't even read this out loud, and three of camphor. Don’t ask what for—I don't know either."
“And after?” you ask, falling into step as he cuts a left toward a narrower street, one lit with dull amber lamps instead of the riotous colours of the main drag.
"He needs new gloves, apparently." Soonyoung sounds almost irritated as he mutters something under his breath that you don't catch, "….but can't buy his own things. And then we need to buy a few knives for some new recruit. She's apparently very good with them."
“New recruit?” you echo, not bothering to hide the scepticism in your voice.
Soonyoung shrugs, glancing over his shoulder as though to check if anyone is listening. “He likes his prodigies. Says she’ll balance the crew.” His mouth quirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "He's bought her out of the Menagerie."
"Ah," you duck around a woman balancing a tray of glass flutes. Soonyoung’s hand finds the curve of your elbow this time, guiding you back to his side before you can slip too far behind. "Is that why Tante Heleen kept staring at us when we passed?"
Soonyoung barks out a laugh, too loud, too sharp. It draws a glance or two, but no one lingers—not when it’s Hoshi, not when the air around him says don’t try it.
“She stares at everyone,” he says, though his grip on your elbow doesn’t loosen. “But yes. That’s why. Jeonghan’s been picking at her pockets for years. Rumours, debts, favours she thought would never come due—he’s taken them all. And she hates him for it.”
"Has he been planning something?" You ask quickly, eyes darting up to meet Soonyoung's.
His eyes catch the light like dark shards of glass, gleaming with something you’ve never quite been able to name. They are sharp, yes, always sharp—quick to narrow, quicker still to dart toward the nearest threat—but you know you don't imagine the way they seem to soften into weathered, smooth beads when he looks at you.
You never expected to fall for the sharpshooter—with the gambler’s grin and hands that move as quick as sleight-of-hand tricks, with the danger he wears as easily as his coat. But the heart is an arrow, silent until it strikes. And yours, it seems, has found its true aim, lodged squarely in the man walking at your side.
Soonyoung shakes his head, the corners of his lips settling into something a little more affectionate. "Nothing that I know of, darling."
The Slat’s roof isn’t comfortable. It digs into your palms and makes your thighs ache when you shift your weight, but the view makes you stay. From here, you can see the whole of the street below—the lanterns, the narrow canal that glimmers only when the wind ripples the surface, the curve of bridges bending like the backs of tired men. You hadn’t expected to find any peace in Ketterdam, but something about this place makes the city feel distant, almost soft.
Soonyoung doesn’t make a sound when he climbs. He never does. If you hadn’t looked up at the right second, you would’ve thought you were still alone. But there he is, hair wind-tossed, lips curled into something that’s equal parts surprise and delight.
“You beat me here,” he says, dropping into a crouch near the edge before sitting down cross-legged, as if balancing on thin roof tiles three stories up is the same as sitting in a chair. “Didn’t think you’d figure out the trick to this climb.”
You shrug, pretending the rapid beating of your heart is from the climb and not from the way his eyes shine, gathering the moonlight like pools of mercury in his orbs. “Someone has to keep you guessing.”
He tips his head, studying you for a beat longer than it feels fair. Then he grins. “Dangerous place to do it, don’t you think?” His hand brushes the tile between you, casual, steadying himself though you know he doesn’t need it. “If you slip, you’ll break your neck.”
“And you wouldn’t catch me?”
His mouth twitches. “Of course I would. But then you’d owe me your life, and I’d never let you forget it.”
The wind presses between you, sharp and cool. You should look back at the water, at the boats moving like shadows, but you don’t. You watch him. He notices, of course. He always notices.
"I wouldn't mind that, maybe."
His smile falters—just a fraction, just enough for you to notice. It’s not the usual armour he wears, all teeth and bravado. This one feels softer, startled, as if you’ve said something he doesn’t quite know how to joke away.
“Oh?” he says finally, voice pitched light, but the way his eyes search yours gives him away. “Wouldn’t mind being in my debt forever? Careful. That’s the sort of thing I’d hold you to.”
The city hums beneath you, muffled, as though the world has agreed to step aside for a moment. It leaves you with nothing but the scrape of clay under your palms and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.
“You’re going to tell me something,” you say finally, because it’s easier to break the silence than drown in it.
Soonyoung leans back, palms braced against the roof, looking up at the thin strip of stars that manages to survive Ketterdam’s smoke. His laugh is low, resigned. “You always know.”
“Of course I do.”
He exhales slowly, and tilts his head until he’s looking at you again. And this time, he lets himself look bare, something you don’t think he lets anyone else see.
“Jeonghan has a job for me.”
Your stomach twists, though you’d half expected it. “Big?”
“The kind you don’t come back from if you’re careless.” His smile returns, crooked, careless itself. “Lucky for me, I’m never careless.”
You want to tell him that’s a lie. That you’ve seen the way he throws himself into danger like it’s a game, the way recklessness clings to him like perfume does to the flowers in the House of White Roses. But the words don’t come. You only sit there, feeling the roof shift beneath you, as though the city itself has tilted.
"Are you going to be alone?"
"No," he admits. "He's put together a crew. Three to four of us."
“A crew,” you repeat, the word catching on your tongue, bitter to taste.
Soonyoung nods once, his hair falling into his eyes again, though he doesn’t bother brushing it away. “The best we’ve got. Or at least, the best Jeonghan thinks we’ve got.” His mouth curves, but the humour doesn’t reach his voice. “He says it’ll take all of us. He says it’s worth it. Big money.”
“And do you believe him?”
“I’ve learned not to bet against him.”
The ache in your chest sharpens, but you school your face into something even, because he doesn’t need your fear weighing him down. “When?”
"Soon.” It’s a single word, but it carries the weight of a hundred unsaid things. His hand shifts closer to yours, resting against the tile until your fingers are almost touching, almost.
"He doesn't need me?"
Soonyoung’s gaze flickers, quick as a card turned in one’s hand. You can tell he’d half expected the question and half dreaded it.
"He doesn't want you there," he says at last, voice gentler than you expect. "Not because you wouldn't be useful but because it isn't safe for you."
You almost laugh, but it catches in your throat. “Safe? Like Ketterdam is any better."
Soonyoung doesn’t rise to the bait. His shoulders stay loose, almost forcefully, and his voice is steady when he speaks. "It's not the same, darling."
Something in his tone makes the back of your neck prickle. You sit up straighter, studying the way his jaw tightens, the way he’s holding something back. “So where?” you press, softer now. “Where is it you’re going that makes it so risky?”
"Why do you want to come anyway?" He retorts, although not in a way that bites. You think he might sound like he's looking for a clear answer to a question you've both been circling and avoiding.
You scoff, a little flustered as you look away. The wind blows your hair into your eyes, and your hand trembles a little as you push it away. "I don't know," you mumble, voice breaking. "Who's going to patch you up when you ultimately hurt yourself a thousand times?"
Soonyoung does laugh, but it’s not his usual sharp bark that makes people flinch. This one is quieter, warmer, the one you'll think of when he's gone. He shakes his head, a little disbelieving, and before you can process it, he’s moving closer across the uneven ledge.
"You make it sound like I'm your full-time job," he says, and then without hesitating, he pulls you into his side—arm looping around your shoulder and head coming to rest on yours.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He smells faintly of smoke and gunpowder and something sharper underneath, something that is just him.
“Maybe it is,” you murmur, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Keeping you alive.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. You think maybe you’ve said too much, that he’ll crack another joke and let it fall away. But then his voice comes low, almost lost to the wind.
"Then you can keep doing it when I come back. I hope you won't get tired."
Your throat tightens, but you manage to tilt your head back enough to catch his expression. Soonyoung's face is close enough that you think he might just plant his lips on your forehead.
The silence stretches, long enough for your head to grow heavy against his shoulder, for your breath to even out with his.
“So where is it, then?” you ask, barely more than a whisper. “This job that needs a crew but not me.”
You feel the faintest shift in his chest as he exhales. He doesn’t answer immediately—he never does when it’s something that matters. His hand, resting against your arm, flexes once, as though he’s weighing whether to tell you at all.
Finally, he murmurs, “Fjerda.”
The word echoes in your mind like a stone dropped into deep water. Fjerda.
It claws at every nerve in your body, dragging up every story you’ve ever heard whispered in the Barrel, every story your Grisha mother told you about their kind—about witch hunters with their iron nets, about Grisha whose bones were left as warnings on the tundra, about ships that never make it back and about the pyres they hold in the Ice Court. Your fingers go numb, and you wonder if he feels the faint tremor that runs through you.
Soonyoung must. His arm stays firm around your shoulders, steady as if he’s daring the whole city to try and pry you out of his reach. But the steadier he holds you, the sharper the fear digs in.
"I'm only half," you protest weakly, despite the worry that has settled into your mind. "Maybe they won't be able to tell. No one here can. Aren't you and Jeonghan the only people who know?"
Soonyoung turns to you, and though his mouth curves faintly, his eyes are unflinching. “Half is enough,” he says. “They’ll smell it on you before you take two steps off the boat. Those witch hunters—drüskelle—they don’t miss.”
You want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, that you’ve hidden it this long and could keep hiding it still, but the words falter when you see the stubborn look on his face, like he's asking if you would fight with him on this.
"But—"
“No.” His voice cuts clean through yours, sharp enough to still your protest. His hand leaves your shoulder only to catch your wrist, grounding you, his thumb pressing once against your pulse. "I would rather be burnt at their stakes than have you anywhere near those godforsaken Fjerdans."
Your breath stumbles. “Don’t—don’t say things like that.” It comes out rougher than you mean, half scolding, half plea.
Soonyoung’s grip on your wrist softens, sliding down until your fingers are tangled in his. His hand is warm, calloused, stubbornly warm against yours. "I’m choosing. And I’d choose you every time.”
He watches you so intently, it’s like he’s trying to carve the truth into your bones, so you’ll remember it even if he doesn’t come back.
You shake your head, but it’s useless. The fear’s still in you, coiled sharp and deep, but something else rises with it—something warmer, almost unbearable in its tenderness. “You’re an idiot,” you whisper, voice trembling. “A reckless, impossible idiot.”
And then, because you can’t help it, because you can’t let him think he can burn for you without you burning too, you press your forehead against his. Your eyes close. His breath brushes your lips.
“If you go,” you murmur, “then you come back. That’s the only deal I’ll make with you. And if you don't, then I will find you and drag you back by the ears."
“You?” he teases softly. “Dragging me back by the ears? Saints, I’d pay to see that.”
Your lips twitch, even though your throat still aches. “Don’t test me, Soonyoung. You know I’ll do it.”
He sobers, though the smile doesn’t fully leave his face. His hand leaves yours only to cup the side of your cheek, rough thumb brushing gently across your skin. “I know you would,” he says, as though it’s the only thing he trusts in the world. “That’s why I can’t let you come.”
"When do you go?" You ask with a sigh.
"Two days," he hums, eyes closed. "And if everything goes alright, I'll be back within two weeks."
"I'm going to hide Jeonghan's ledgers." You pull away with a grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you look out onto the skyline. "I'll tear some of the pages out and then leave it in the corners of his office for him to piece together later."
Soonyoung chuckles softly, rubbing his palm down your back comfortingly. "Don't blame him. He's just doing what he always does."
"Yeah," you agree, masking your disappointment with mock-bitterness. "Making my life hell."
“You make it sound like he wakes up every morning just to ruin your day.”
“Doesn’t he?” you mutter, though your lips twitch despite yourself.
Soonyoung exhales airily, almost like he's trying to convince himself. "It'll be alright, darling. I'll be back with more cuts for you to heal."
You’re not supposed to be here.
Soonyoung had asked you not to come when he had knocked on your room's door in the Slat, knuckles brushing your cheeks and igniting a fiery trail in their wake. Said that they were leaving before sunrise, and that it wasn't worth losing sleep over.
But he has a way of drawing you out all the same. The lanterns flicker low along the Dregs' pier, ropes groaning against their moorings and sails fluttering faintly with the breeze. Even the early morning winds are unable to fan away the salt and brine that hangs thick in the air. Fish guts and coal smoke linger too, sharp enough to sting the back of your throat. Somewhere, a gull cries, harsh and lonely, and the sound echoes over the water like laughter that doesn’t quite belong.
It’s too early for most of Ketterdam, but here the harbour is already awake. Boots scrape across the wooden planks, low voices mutter orders, crates thud as they’re dragged into place. Shadows move in clusters, men with knives at their belts and rifles strapped across their backs.
You see Soonyoung before he sees you—moving through the crowd, shoulders loose, easy, like he belongs to the chaos itself. He doesn’t wear the edge of someone about to leave on dangerous business. He blends in too well.
But then his head lifts, cutting through the noise like he feels you before he sees you. His eyes find yours across the distance, and for just a second his steps falter. Then his mouth curves, half-smiling and half-surrendering.
His lips shape the words across the gap: stay there.
You're half-hidden behind the crates already, but you obey anyway, breath caught in your throat as you notice the lean of Jeonghan and Chan's back as they climb into the ship with a knowing glance at you.
Watching as Soonyoung makes his way over, you're hit with the inexplicable feeling that you're going to miss him more than you expected to. He grins at someone else, tosses a careless wave toward another crew, ducks his head to avoid a swinging rope, his hands never leaving the revolvers at his side.
You mutter a silent prayer to the Saints and hope his trusted weapons keep him safe.
When he reaches you, Soonyoung's hand closes over your wrist, tugging you into the deeper dark between the crates. The impact of you falling into his chest is soft but startling, before he shifts back a fraction, breath catching like he hadn’t meant to drag you this close. The world muffles here. Shouts fade into a low hum, gulls wheel overhead but their cries feel distant, like they’re happening in some other place. You’re left with the scrape of wood against your back and the sight of his bobbing Adam's apple.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says again, but it’s quieter now, the words carrying no bite. His mouth tugs at the corner as though he wants to frown and smile at once. The look in his eyes is worse: resigned, fond, like he knew this would happen. “Also, you’re terrible at this.”
“At what?” You frown, slightly confused.
“Stealth.” He leans against a crate. “Half the harbor saw you sneaking down here. You might as well have waved a little flag.”
You huff, crossing your arms. “No one saw me.”
“They did,” he insists, tone mock-serious. “Old man by the rope coils nearly tripped over himself staring."
"It was my good looks, then." You hum, playfully waving him off.
Soonyoung snorts, quick and sharp, before pressing the back of his hand to his mouth like he’s trying to stifle it. “Right. Sure. That must’ve been it.”
You shoot him a look, but his grin only widens, catching in the faint glow of a lantern that flickers overhead. You catch the way his eyes linger—too long, too heavy for something so lighthearted. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the way you stand here, stubborn and unyielding even in the stink of fish and tar.
“You should go before someone realizes you’ve been wasting time talking to me,” you murmur, trying to sound casual. "I saw the others getting into the ship already. Don't hold them back."
“Wasting time?” His brows rise. “That’s rich coming from you. I’ll have you know, I’m exceptionally good at making time for you."
Your lips twitch despite the sinking feeling in your heart. "And here I thought you would be busy playing hero."
Soonyoung shrugs, letting out a long sigh before he steps closer to you. "No heroes on this side of the city, darling. But, wait—"
His hand disappears into the inner lining of his coat, fingers brushing through hidden pockets until he finds what he’s looking for. When he pulls it free, you realize it’s not a weapon, not a note, but a card.
He holds it between two fingers, the King of Clubs.
For a moment, he just looks at it, thumb dragging idly over the edge like it’s muscle memory. Then, slowly, he presses it into your palm and folds your fingers tight around it. His hand lingers, covering yours, heat seeping into your skin.
“I don’t give these away,” Soonyoung says, voice quieter now, stripped of its usual humor. “Lost almost every club I had in a street brawl years back. Just two left.” He reaches into another pocket and flashes the other card, the Queen of Clubs, before tucking it safely back against his chest. “This one’s mine to keep. But the King—” his thumb brushes over the back of your knuckles,“the King’s yours now.”
You blink at him, startled. “You’re giving me your lucky card?”
He grins, though there’s a tightness to it that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Think of it as insurance. A bet, if you will. I win, I come back, and you give it back to me. If I lose…” His mouth quirks, though it’s softer now, almost self-mocking. “Well. You keep it. And you get to tell everyone you once owned the only thing Kwon Soonyoung never let go of.”
Your throat tightens, though you force your lips into some semblance of a smile. “That’s a terrible bet."
“Not if you believe in my luck,” Soonyoung counters, leaning in just close enough that his forehead nearly brushes yours.
He tucks your hand with the card against your chest and finally steps back, slow, reluctant, as if the weight of leaving has suddenly settled over his shoulders. His gaze flickers once more toward the ship, then back to you, softer than you’ve ever seen it. You slip the card into the pockets of your trouser.
“So that’s it, then,” he murmurs, trying to play it off like a gambler cashing out, but the words hang heavy in the air. He turns, the hem of his coat brushing against you when you reach out and grab his collar instead.
Your fingers fist into them, tugging before he can take another step, jerking him back toward you. He stumbles half a pace, surprised, but his body reacts before his mind catches up. He bends into the space you’ve claimed, his hands flying up instinctively to steady you both, palms pressing against your waist.
You kiss him before he can speak, before he can make another joke or slip away with that lopsided smile. Your lips press to his with more urgency than grace, the salt of the harbor air caught between you and you hope to swallow that gunpowder scent that always follows him around and keep it with you until he returns.
For a heartbeat, he goes still—like you’ve shocked him—but then his breath shudders against your mouth, and he’s kissing you back. Rough, sure, and aching. His grip tightens, pulling you closer, until your chest is flush against his and there’s no space left for second thoughts.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless, lips tingling and fingers still running over his collar like you’re not quite ready to let him go. His eyes are wide, bright even, and for once Soonyoung's quick mouth falters like he can’t quite believe what just happened.
Then, before you can say anything, he dips back in.
It’s quicker this time, a messy press of lips that makes you laugh against his mouth, the sound muffled but real, and he hums low in his throat as if he’s won something. His hand slides up your back, holding you close, and he kisses you like a thief snatching a second prize, greedy and unwilling to walk away after just one taste.
You push at his chest lightly when you hear Chan's voice from the ship. Soonyoung pulls back, forehead against yours, his thumbs grazing your waist almost absentmindedly. He swallows, his breath shuddering against your lips as he whispers, “Saints—if this is how you plan to send me off, I might never leave.”
"Hoshi!"
The shout rips through the air from down the pier—Chan’s voice, sharp with urgency. Both of you flinch, his head snapping toward the sound while you instinctively tighten your grip on his collar. He lets out a breathless laugh, somewhere between annoyed and reluctant, then looks back at you with a smile that finally feels like him again.
Soonyoung huffs out a laugh, one last reluctant glance toward the ship where Chan is surely pacing by now. His hand trails down your side before it finally slips away, like he has to peel himself off you finger by finger.
“You’ll crease my coat if you keep holding on,” he says softly, nudging at your fist still bunched in his collar. But when you don’t let go right away, he doesn’t push further and just lets you have these last seconds.
At last, you loosen your grip. He takes a step back, then another, and it’s almost worse than if he’d turned away outright—watching him retreat inch by inch, like he’s daring you to pull him back in again. His grin reappears, crooked, infuriating, hiding more than it reveals.
“Hold on to that for me, darling,” he calls softly. “And if the Saints are kind, maybe I’ll come back to win it off you.”
You force yourself to lift your chin. “You’d better. Or I’ll sell it to the highest bidder.”
That earns you a bark of laughter that carries across the harbor, bright and unguarded. He throws you a mock salute, then finally turns on his heel, boots thudding loudly against the wood as he heads toward the waiting ship.
You stand there long after his figure disappears up the gangplank, after the shouts of the crew blur with the creak of ropes and the groan of wood. Only when the ship begins to pull away from the dock do you pull out the card again. It's battered, edges frayed from his constant shuffling.
Soonyoung gambles with cards, with coins, with fate itself—always reckless, always smiling, as if the odds will bend to him if he tries hard enough. And maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s the magic you’ve always half envied.
But now, with his luck pressed against your palm, you realize you’ve started to gamble too. On him. On the chance he’ll come back. On the wild hope that this bet of yours will pay off.
And Saints help you, you believe it will.
GLOSSARY
Black Tips: A rival gang in Ketterdam. Known for being vicious but not particularly clever, often clashing with the Dregs over territory and jobs.
Crow Club: A gambling hall owned by the Dregs, located in the Barrel. It’s one of their primary sources of income
Dime Lions: Another gang in Ketterdam, larger and more organized than the Black Tips. They’re dangerous rivals to the Dregs, with a reputation for muscle and brutality.
Dregs: A street gang in Ketterdam, headquartered in the Slat. They’re known for taking in strays, outcasts, and anyone who proves useful, and for thriving on the city’s chaos and corruption.
Drüskelle: Fjerdan word for a witchhunter tasked with hunting down Grisha, allegedly to face trial and execution.
Emerald Palace: Gambling house owned by the Dime Lions.
Fjerda: A northern nation across the True Sea from Kerch. Harsh, icy, and deeply hostile toward Grisha, whom they hunt and persecute.
Grisha: Humans who possess special abilities. They are hunted and burned at the stake in most of the world, particularly in Fjerda. In Ketterdam, sanctuary is offered to Grisha who indenture themselves to merchants. There are three orders of Grisha: Corporalki, Etherealki, and Materialki.
Corporalki (The Order of the Living and the Dead): Healers, Heartrenders, Tailors. They manipulate the human body.
Etherealki (The Order of Summoners): Squallers, Inferni, Tidemakers. They summon wind, fire, and water.
Materialki (The Order of Fabrikators): Durasts and Alkemi. They work with solid matter and chemicals.
House of the White Rose: A pleasure house in Ketterdam, infamous for its courtesans and for making its girls and boys into commodities for the rich.
Kerch: An island nation and major hub of international trade. Ketterdam, its capital, thrives on gambling, vice, and commerce—and is ruled by merchants more ruthless than any gang.
Ketterdam: Capital of Kerch
Kruge: The official currency of Kerch
Komedie Brute: A Kerch performance group. Many of the plays break the fourth wall, with traditions of the audience saying or doing something in response to the appearance of characters on stage.
The Menagerie: Another pleasure house in Ketterdam, notorious for forcing girls to wear animal masks and silks as part of their “performances.”
West Stave: is one of the two major canals that bracket the Barrel in Ketterdam. The other is East Stave. Full of lights and music, West Stave is known for its brothels, which attract pleasure-seekers and crowd-watching tourists alike. Many people visit the pleasure district in disguise as characters from the Komedie Brute. Other tourists never enter the brothels, simply coming to watch the costumed crowd.
this fic is part of the Holiday Fic Exchange event hosted by @studiosvt!
Soonyoung is loud and quaint, fiery and rational, spirited and worn, and every other juxtaposition under the sun. But most of all, he's yours.
wc: 1.3k | contains: soonyoungxreader, mostly just fluff, they're disgustingly in love
[a/n]: surprise @etherealyoungk it's me!!! you were one of my first moots on here when I joined and you've always been so welcoming and kind and such a consistently positive figure, I'm so glad we're friends and I cant wait for the next year with you!! happy holidays Skye, I hope this Soonyoung is to your liking 🫶 this fic is not beta'd but pls pretend it is. I tried to comb through it but im sure I missed something sgjngrtk
divider from @/pixopix
masterlist
"Babe, put on a jacket!" you yell, mouth half full of of breakfast sandwich. There's a gust of delayed wind that reaches you seconds after Soonyoung whizzes past you, the hard footfalls audible as he reaches the entryway in nothing but a thin sweater.
"On it!" he yells back and you can hear the shuffling in the coat closet. There's thundering footsteps once more as you take a sip out of your juice cup, getting closer by the second. Your boyfriend has one arm in the sleeve his large puffer jacket with the other on the way, running with staggering momentum to plant a haphazard kiss on your cheek, finishing with an audible "muah".
"I'll see you later," he huffs, and you let him run out the door at that. You want to tell him to zip up before he gets out the door, but decide to leave the reminder for next time before he malfunctioned entirely.
For someone who turned visibly blue anytime he was a hair too cold, Soonyoung seemed adamant on forgetting at least one warm piece of clothing he'd freeze to death without. A jacket today, his gloves tomorrow, his only warm beanie yesterday. It usually ends with him running laps mid day to avoid death entirely, or you tending to his dramatics when he inevitably gets sick by the end of the week.
But you don't mind giving him the reminder, especially when you know he waits till the 11th hour to rush out the door to spend as much of his morning with you. Today's hold up was the very sandwich you're nearly halfway through. He's been trying to cook under your supervision, to both learn and to make sure he doesn't burn the house to the ground entirely. You're nobody to complain, because you get to boss him around and get fed out of it.
Despite it all, you still note the empty sink, and the dishwasher that hums in the background from all the pots and pans from breakfast that Soonyoung rinsed and loaded before leaving, but not before making you promise to not unload and put them away yourself.
Soonyoung has always made it glitteringly easy to fall in love with him, a fact you thought silly when your friend first described him to you. A person made to be loved, they had said, and you'd very naively argued "well, that's everyone."
He's a beacon, a mirrorball that bounced off everyone else's light a thousand times brighter.
And he loves you too, you feel it in the swell of your chest and his eyes that never stop pouring; more, you realise, than you will ever know.
Soonyoung comes home that night with takeout that's still piping hot, but you wouldn't know because you lie in bed still napping your lunch away. He makes sure to make no sound as he tiptoes to the bedroom, stripping off his outside clothes and moving to take a hot shower to thaw out from the outside freeze. He doesn't go to wake you till he's cleaned up and ready to devote the rest of the evening to you.
Soonyoung's always made sure to wake you gently, never any loud clanging, banging or yelling. He'd learned his lesson the first time.
His fingers grapple to find the string of the bedside lamp, pulling it to turn on as he seats himself at the edge of the bed. The room is cast in a cozy orange glow, and it takes a lot out of him to not give in and join you in bed.
Both his hands sneak under the covers, dragging over your back and waist gently before he leans over you, elbows holding him up. His chest lowers to meet your back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. He brushes the hair off your face and neck, hand coming up to rub soothingly at your shoulder.
Bringing his face closer, he plants a long kiss on your face near your ear, before whispering his wakings. "Up, baby." Kiss. "Come on." Kiss. "Night is young and there's a giant plastic bowl of soup waiting for you." Kiss.
You begin to stir, a monotonous hum emitting from your chest as you readjust and attempt to fall back asleep.
That's his cue to start manhandling. Slowly, he removes the blanket, caressing your shoulders, back, waist and hip to coax you back into the real world. Your grunt in disapproval, shimmying out of his hold to try to go back to sleep. Soonyoung instead pulls out the big guns now that he knows you're somewhat awake.
First order of business is to pull you onto your back, which he does easily but not without loud contest. By the end of his maneuvering, he has you strapped on his back and your eyes semi open, cheek pressed onto his shoulder as you mumble obscenities about his horrible boyfriend ethics. According to you, he should've let you starve.
You sing a very different tune when he sets you on the kitchen island and the smell of food is significantly more apparent, eyes opening properly for the first time as you take in the packaging. Soonyoung opens the dishwasher, no doubt to reuse the plates he'd washed in the morning, only to find it empty.
He turns around, annoyed look on his face, "I told you to not unload the dishwasher."
You only wave him off, digging your arm into the bag to get out the containers. "They're in the cabinet."
By the time everything's plated and you're shoveling spoonfuls into your mouth, you're fully awake and very grateful your boyfriend didn't let you turn your nap into a full night's sleep. He doesn't let you move an inch, jumping to put away the disposables and hand washing your couple plates and utensils. You remain seated, listening to him talk about his day.
"…when Jihoon pulled out lyrics printed on purple sheets—"
"Why purple?"
"Because you like it! Anyway, they asked me what colour I wanted for the new mics we're getting on tour and I asked for purple. I think they're making it sparkly, I forgot to ask."
Soonyoung has to speak up over the rush of water coming from the tap and the clatter of cutlery as he washes them, his voice loud and clear. You know it's only another thirty minutes before he won't be able to raise his voice over a certain decibel when the exhaustion of the day catches up. It'll be impossible to get him to do anything but lay around and smother himself in your clothes after a while, the stark difference in behaviour bringing a smile to your face.
"What?" he asks, noting your expression. You only shake your head.
"D'you have to go in tomorrow?"
He shakes his head, "Nope. Have the rest of the weekend too. I can't wait to not set an alarm tonight." He's singsonging as he dries the dishes off, a pep in his step and shoulders. Giddiness all around for the long weekend you'll have.
Soonyoung is loud and quaint, fiery and rational, spirited and worn, and every other juxtaposition under the sun. But most of all, he's yours.
He carries love like a human diffuser, and everyday you're grateful how easy he makes it to remind you to appreciate the things that tend to get lost in the bigger picture. There's love when he's rushing out the door, when he's burning toast in the morning, when he wakes you to make sure you eat, when he's tired and drained.
The love of your life comes around the counter when he's done, dropping a kiss to your lips before asking if you'd like some hot chocolate.
warnings: first half is all FLUFF <3 nsfw part included too! dancer!hoshi, dancer!reader, fem reader, unprotected sex 😔, public sex, creampie, mirror sex, orgasm denial + edging, they r in luv! <3
boyfriend!soonyoung who’s the school’s infamous dance captain, while you’re a member of the dance club. that’s how the both of you met.
boyfriend!soonyoung who was known to be a dynamic ball of energy, but with you — he was so shy initially. thought you were too pretty to approach, thought you looked out of reach. took him a while to be able to be friends with you.
boyfriend!soonyoung finally had the balls to confess to you after working on a dance project with you for 2 months. impulsive 2am thoughts and a slip of the tongue while the both of you were slurping down cup noodles after practice.
“—so yeah jihoon wouldn’t stop making fun of me, especially about my crush on you and—”
“what?”
“…what did i say?”
boyfriend!soonyoung who’s superrr clingy. even if it’s a separate practice session for team projects within the dance club, he’s gonna be at yours. sitting at the back, the front, beside the mirrors — wherever. (and it makes the juniors/other members nervous as HELL)
boyfriend!soonyoung who gets pouty when you tell him not to show up all the time — “it intimidates the rest!” but he promises to not be noticed the next time; cue him going to your next practice in a ball cap and mask, sitting at the back corner.
boyfriend!soonyoung who is always willing to help and guide you patiently. (though he is always impatient and scary with the other team members) with you though — he can never lose his temper at you. every mistake you make causes him to giggle like you’re the cutest thing ever.
“you’re so cute baby,”
you pout “i’m sorry baby… i can’t seem to get this even though i’ve done it like - 20 times.”
“it’s okay baby, you’re doing so well. doing better than dino even.”
you tilt your head…”that’s impossible”
“i’ll happily watch you practice it a 100 times angel,”
boyfriend!soonyoung who’s your biggest supporter. he’s your biggest fan. after every performance, he never fails to gift you the biggest & most dramatic bouquet of flowers with a little tiger plushie in the middle. with the longest heartfelt letter sealed in a tiger print envelope.
boyfriend!soonyoung who feels so lucky to have you. because if you think he’s dramatic? you’re even MORE dramatic. customised tiger gifts for him, an even bigger bouquet of flowers for him, and the cutest love letter he has pinned on his board at home.
boyfriend!soonyoung who is always your biggest defender. anytime he hears people talking shit about you — he’s immediate to thrash things out with them. always reminds people how hardworking you are, and loves to talk about you to everyone he knows.
“she’s the prettiest, kindest, purest soul i’ve ever met. and have you seen her dance? swear she’s better than me.”
“she’s the best. i don’t know how i got so lucky to love someone like her.”
boyfriend!soonyoung who loves using not only words of affirmation, he loves his quality time with you, he loves feeling your touch all the time, and he’s the best at acts of service.
“i love you baby. i’ll never get tired of telling you how amazing you are. i’m so happy we got to exist in the same universe timeline, like—” *him rambling and getting distracted by the theories about different universe timelines*
*him always planning the most thought out dates — full day itinerary; at the zoo, pottery dates, etc. but he loves spending his down time with you too — sitting at home, putting on animal print face masks together, doing feet baths together.*
he always needs to hold your hand — doesn’t want to lose you in the crowd (though the crowd on tuesdays at the mall seems to be…bleak). hugs with him lasts at least 10 minutes at a time, and naps with him end up with him hugging you like a koala bear on a tree.
hungry at 2am? he’s at your door within 15 with your favourite late night snack. on your period? he’s got a full care pack covered. late for class? he’s already sitting in your lecture hall; attendance marked for you, taking down notes for you.
nsfw version here!
boyfriend!soonyoung who found out he had a thing for exhibitionism one night while the both of you were practicing late in the dance studio.
you were practicing your moves, concentration at a 100% while looking at yourself in the mirror. and he couldn’t help but feel a little turned out by how hard you were dancing. sweaty, flushed and so so pretty.
the song switches — and you snap your head towards soonyoung. he walks towards you in beat with the sensual song, before wrapping his arms around you from behind.
“follow my guide baby,” he sways, holding onto you so tight. he traces your arms, interlocking both hands with you — flowing with the music while his eyes never left yours in the mirror.
“you’re so sexy baby. love the way you move,” he breathes down your neck, eyes shutting for less than a second before he focuses on you again.
you hum, hips moving against his crotch as you feel yourself get heated up as the song progresses. “learned it all from you baby,” your giggle snaps him out of his deep reverie.
“getting bold now are we?”
boyfriend!soonyoung loves how you’re always down to explore new boundaries with him. he knows the deep trust goes both ways, and he’s grateful.
boyfriend!soonyoung loves when you get all needy for him. it’s usually him being all clingy and like a baby when it comes to you. you’re his safe space. so when he sees you being all wide eyed and desperate for him — it turns him on to no end.
he’s a menace. when it comes to fucking you, he’s double the menace. gets off on you being his needy little angel. no one would ever guess what goes on behind closed doors when it comes to him.
he’s edged you for the past 30 minutes, your juices tainting the dance floor that’s only seen blood sweat and tears of the dancers. his smile is sinister, is relishing in the fact that he’s holding the key to your heaven gates at the moment.
loves to have you in front of him sitting right in front of the mirror. the big and wide mirror capturing the indecent act. your legs wide open for him as his fingers alternate between rubbing messily and harshly on your clit, and plunging deep into your his cunt.
wants you to come undone on his fingers and torture alone.
but he’s selfish, only wants to achieve what he’d set to do so earlier. and it’s for you to cum on his cock. he sits on the floor with his pretty cock out in the open, and has you in the same position, except now you’re sitting on his cock — deep inside you. all still facing the mirror where his gaze is locked on every move you make.
“that’s it baby, ride my cock like you fucking mean it yeah?”
“training you to have strong legs baby, you need them to continue to dance amazingly right?”
you cry out at the overstimulation, you want nothing but to cum. every hit his cock makes chokes you and you don’t recognise the girl in the mirror anymore — so wrecked on your boyfriend’s cock.
“tell me what you need pretty girl,” soonyoung teases as he leans back on his hands, enjoying the view in the mirror, hiding how fucked out he feels. how he is so close to cumming right inside of you this very moment. but he’s holding back. he’s got better control than that anyways.
“need to—need to cum nowww soonie, please baby,” tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you continue to ride him, pace faltering as you feel your legs getting tired.
“if you can cum like that, be my guest baby. cum.” he shrugs, and you notice the glint in his devilish gaze through the mirror. you groan, legs giving out on you and you resort to grinding slowly.
“need you to—need you to help me,” you pout, if acting cute won’t get you what you want, you don’t know what else to try.
“baby needs my help? can’t cum on her own? aw baby.” he pouts back at you, and you want so badly to snap at him at his tone but you know better than to do so.
“on your knees, face the mirror. won’t tell you twice.” and all energy resurfaces as you scurry to go on all fours, looking at how desperate you appear through the mirror — your reflection mocking you.
soonyoung grunts in approval. slides his cock right back into you, and thanks the heavens for you. for being able to take you like this. swears you look like an angel even being so fucked out on the dance floor, back being blown out.
“so fucking pretty like this baby, how do you always look so fucking beautiful,” he snaps his hips so deep into you with a certain tempo, and you feel like you’re ascending to heaven each time he fucks his cock into you.
his fingers reach forward to smack your puffy clit, using the tip of his fingers to rub messily, finally deciding to let his angel cum.
“c-can’t—gonna cum—i’m gonna cum gonna cum” you cry out with a hoarse throat with actual tears running down your flushed cheeks this time. your hands reach back to grab onto his biceps, nails plunging in, and it drives him crazy.
“you can cum baby, cum on your fucking cock—cream it baby let me feel you—” you clench around him so tight he lets out a string of ‘fucks’. you fall forward, face flat — cheeks pressed on the dance floor, letting your body do the job of releasing the past hour of edging. all tension let loose, you moan out his name so beautifully as you cream and choke his cock with your cunt.
“fuck fuck fuck baby, gonna cum too. gonna cum inside you pretty, fuuuuuck—” his grip on your hips tighten as he releases his creamy load inside of you. airy moans leaving his chest as he lets his cock paint your cunt as his.
he slows down his thrusts, letting the mixture of your releases mix together slowly. you both slowly relish in the moment of your bodies connecting, feeling nothing but love left.
boyfriend!soonyoung who’s always taking care of you — including after care! loves praising you non stop, leaving trails of kisses everywhere. post-nut clarity hits differently for him — where he always tells himself that he wants to be yours forever.
boyfriend!soonyoung who’s not only the best boyfriend, the best lover but also your best friend and the one person you’re most thankful for in the world ! <3
a/n: haha…was in a hoshi mood…<3 GAH. i hope u guys liked it ! typed this all in one go while thinking abt hoshi n him being the bestest boy ever.
