You play a popular game you found on social media that you play with your partner, and you think it's the perfect way to get Seong-je's half-assed attention. One applies the chapstick, and the other must guess the flavor through a kiss.
Warnings: Language, nsfw content, fingering
Word Count: 1.3k
Notes: I'm currently working on requests! I've been gone for so long, but I promise I'll lock in now.
masterlist whc masterlist rules
Seong-je snuck through your window a little over two hours ago. He's leaned up against your headboard, one leg thrown over yours, while the other is propped up. He's currently playing on your console, curses quietly flowing past his lips as he mashes the buttons on your controller.
"Shit...little fucker is probably playing on his brother's account. We all know you aren't level 420, ugly little shit." he curses, eating the chocolate-covered acai and blueberries he got for you.
The reason why Seong-je was even over was because you had sent him a photo of a cute dress you had found at the thrift store. As pretty as it was, it was incredibly short. You thought that maybe if you provoked him, he'd come over and finally give you the attention you've been craving.
Instead, he's in your bed, eating the snacks he bought for you and playing on your console like a bum.
"Seong-je." you nudge him.
"Hm." he hums, not looking away from your TV.
You stare at him a little longer, waiting to see if he'd ask for the follow-up, but he was clearly occupied. You roll your eyes and lie on your side, turning away from him. You scroll on your phone, liking videos your friends had posted, when you remember why you invited him over.
You came across a cute trend where couples guess Chapstick flavors by kissing each other, taste-testing each flavor. You quickly sit back up, stretching your body over his lap as you reach into your bedside table. You pull out the chapstick packaging of several flavors you found at some cheap dollar store.
Right as Seong-je finishes his game, you face him, sitting with your legs crossed. You push the chapstick into his hands.
Seong-je looks down at his lap, thinking you got him a gift, only to see the cheap knock-off brands of chapstick. Hershey, Skittles, Strawberry, Cola, etc.
"What are you, a kid? What is this?" he tears the packaging open, picking up the Redbull flavor. "This is the equivalent of when you go shopping at Bath and Body Works and only get those nasty food-scented perfumes."
You frown. "You told me you liked my strawberry poundcake."
"I lied."
You gather the tiny cylinders in your hands, putting them in your lap.
"I wanna play the Chapstick game. I saw it on TikTok." you urge.
Seong-je thinks for a second before he nods once. "The game where you guess all the flavors and shit? I've seen that before."
"Yes!" you exclaim excitedly. "Okay, so you know the rules. Come on, put that down. Let's play."
He sighs, placing your controller down and sitting up. "Alright, Princess. Let's play."
"I'm going first. Close your eyes!"
The edge of Seong-je's mouth quirks up into a smirk as he reluctantly shut his eyes. You pick a random flavor in the pile of many flavors, lathering your lips with it.
"Okay, open!"
He opens his eyes. Now, to guess. He leans in, tilting your chin upwards towards him. His lips meet yours, prompting your eyes to close in bliss. He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip before he abruptly pulls back.
"That shit tastes like lizard ankles."
You laugh, concealing the true flavor in your clenched hand.
"No, that's not a guess."
He leans back, wiping his mouth. "That's got to be like, slime or something."
"It's Sprite."
"That was sprite...?" he asked in disbelief, looking at the flavor you presented to him.
"Okay, it's your turn. Pick one." You close your eyes, waiting patiently.
You can hear Seong-je rustling through the flavors before finally picking one. He doesn't tell you he's done, nor does he tell you to open your eyes. He just slams his lips against yours, pushing you down towards the bed. You let out an involuntary moan, hand sliding up his chest as you try to taste the flavor on his lips.
Seong-je's teeth bite down on your tongue, causing you to gasp out in pain. He smiles down at you, relishing in the pain he inflicted on you. You look up at him through your lashes, licking your lips, trying to taste the flavor.
"Is it...Cola?"
Seong-je gave you a tight-lipped smile, shaking his head. He placed his hand on your chest, squeezing your breast shamelessly.
"Nope. That's wrong, Princess." his hand trails down. "For every answer you get wrong, my hand will go lower."
Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel his large, calloused hand slide down your stomach.
"Liquorice?" you guess, rubbing your thighs together.
"Nope." he huffs, hand now rubbing your lower belly. "One more guess."
"Pepsi?"
Seong-je sighs, giving you a moment to process the silence before slipping his hand past the waistband of your underwear.
"Three guesses, and you got them all wrong, Baby." he smiles, palm sliding down your freshly shaven skin. "You've lost."
You let out a whimper, wrapping your hand around the wrist of the hand buried in your underwear. His lips find your neck, his free hand angling your head backwards.
"This isn't...fair," you protest. "This isn't how you play the game."
Seong-je's kisses turned into nips as his fingers found their way towards your entrance. His free hand hooks underneath your knee, spreading your legs so he'd have more access.
His fingers, playing in your heat, finally dip into your aching entrance, relieving you of the emptiness that had been bothering you all day. You gasp, burying your mouth in the palm of your hand. He must've forgotten your parents are still home.
You grind your hips against his hand as his fingers curl against your g-spot, rolling your eyes to the back of your head.
"Right there," Seong-je speaks to himself, making a mental note of where you like it best.
The rolls of chapstick were long forgotten, some across your floor after they had rolled off the bed. You were hot, and the room felt like it was closing in on you with each passing minute. You clench around his fingers, embarrassed that it didn't take you long to get close.
"Already?" he laughs, his other hand gripping your knee, making sure you kept your legs spread, while the other pumped two fingers inside of you. "That's even quicker than last time."
Your face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. Your whimpers progressed into moans as each pump brought you closer to the edge, and it didn't help that he added another finger.
The hallway light flickered on, followed by the sounds of footsteps. Your parents.
"Honey?" your mother's voice calls out, startling you. "Are you still awake?"
Your body goes stiff at the sound of her voice. You try to get Seong-je to stop, but a wicked grin formed on his face. He curled his three fingers around your weak spot, making your back arch.
"Careful now," Seong-je warns with that shit-eating grin. "Don't wanna be too loud, now do we?"
You stare at your boyfriend in betrayal, coughing in your hand to mask a moan.
"I was studying, Mom. I'm going to bed now." You lie easily.
The light eventually shuts off, making your body relax. You're filled with ecstasy and relief as you clench around him, feeling the knot tie in your lower belly. His fingers come to a slow stop, coated in your liquids.
You breathe heavily, chest heaving as the ceiling of your bedroom spins in your vision. While you slowly come back down to Earth, Seong-je rubs your thigh with his thumb, bringing his coated hand towards his mouth.
He sucks his fingers off, not once breaking his glare on you.
hi r u doing smut fics? but anyways if u do pls make about how whc 2 characters would react if you give them a bj 🤭
anyways i luv ur whc fics keep it up thanks xoxo
weak hero class headcanons — going down on the boys of weak hero class 🔞
synopsis — how the boys of whc... well, anon’s ask is pretty self-explanatory
pairing/s — (all the whc boys here are in senior year/18+) sieun x reader, suho x reader, baku x reader, gotak x reader, juntae x reader, baekjin x reader, seongje x reader, beomseok x reader
a/n — >< everyone’s been waiting for something a bit more... out there for the whc boys, and since i rarely do smut, this was definitely a challenge !! i hope everyone has a fun time. disclaimer: this is pure smut, mdni. if you’re a minor in the taglist, don’t interact pls. i removed who i know are under 18, but might have missed some.
masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic
⤷ yeon sieun
he doesn’t say a word when you kneel, just watches you with that intense, unreadable stare. it’s not until your lips wrap around him that his breath hitches—barely audible, but sharp. his fingers curl into the arm of the couch, the only giveaway that he’s actually unraveling.
you go slow, wanting to see what kind of reactions you can pull from him. he swallows hard. his thigh twitches. then, finally, a sound—low and breathy: “don’t stop.” he doesn’t guide you. doesn’t push. but when his hand cups your jaw, there’s something raw in it—like he’s grounding himself with you. he finishes with a tight exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and when he comes back down, he murmurs, “come here,” like he’s desperate to hold you, to take back the control he just gave up.
⤷ ahn suho
he watches you kneel in front of him, his expression shifting from surprised to almost amused. “you sure about this, baby?” he asks, voice still calm, but you can hear the hint of anticipation beneath it.
but the moment your mouth wraps around him, his teasing demeanor fades. “f-fuck—wait—” his hand flies to your hair instinctively, not rough but firm, guiding you just the way he wants. his hips buck upward just a little as he tries to hold himself together, but it's clear he's losing it.
"shit, you feel so good," he groans, voice thick with need. “y-you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering shut, his grip tightening in your hair as he shudders. afterward, he pulls you up into his arms, kissing the top of your head with a soft laugh.
“you have no idea what you just did to me,” he whispers, his breath still unsteady, holding you close like he never wants to let go.
⤷ park humin (baku)
“oh my god, wait, wait—holy shit—” he’s already whining before you even start, half laughing, half panicking. you press your mouth to his length and he melts, one hand flying to his hair like he needs to pull it to stay conscious.
he talks through the whole thing—loud, flustered, ridiculous. “you’re so hot, oh my god, i can’t—babe, babe—your mouth is actually insane—” he keeps trying to look down at you, like he doesn’t want to miss a second. every time you suck a little harder, he moans like he’s being possessed.
“i’m gonna cum, oh fuck, i’m—ah, shit—” he whimpers, hand flying down to cover his mouth as you take all of him in. afterward, he lies flat on the bed, panting. “i literally saw god. was that even real? or did i hallucinate?”
⤷ go hyuntak (gotak)
he doesn’t say a word—just watches you silently, jaw clenched. when your lips wrap around him, he inhales sharply through his nose, gripping the edge of the couch so hard his knuckles go white. his voice comes out low and strained—“don’t tease. if you’re gonna do it, do it.” and when you take him deeper, a groan rumbles out of his chest—so deep it makes your thighs clench.
he doesn’t fuck your throat, doesn’t move much at all—but you can feel the tension in his body like a live wire. he cums with a stifled grunt, holding your head there as he spills down your throat. afterward, he leans back, breathing heavy, eyes glazed. “…fuck. that was something else.”
⤷ seo juntae
he looks like he might pass out when you kneel—eyes wide, hands flying up like he’s about to protest but forgets how. “w-wait, you don’t have to—i mean, if you want to, i’m not gonna stop you, but—” and then your mouth is on him and he chokes on a gasp. his hands hover awkwardly in the air for a second before he grips the blanket, knuckles white.
“ohmygod—th-that feels—” his voice is high, barely coherent, broken between moans and shaky breaths. you glance up and his face is flushed, lip caught between his teeth, eyes behind his glasses already watering. he cums with a whimper, hips bucking up with his thighs trembling, immediately covering his face. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to go that fast, i just—holy shit, you’re really good at that.”
⤷ na baekjin
he doesn’t speak when you kneel, but his expression changes—sharpening, almost curious. maybe a little hungry. he stays perfectly still as your mouth wraps around him, but his breathing falters, eyes darkening as he watched his length disappear against your lips, hand twitching once before it settles gently on your head. he groans—quiet but intense, jaw clenching every time your tongue swirls around him. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, hand tightening in your hair.
you feel his thighs tense under your touch, and his voice breaks when he tells you, “just like that.” his body shivering as you hollow your cheeks. he cums with a gasp, hips barely jerking, breath catching like he didn’t expect it to hit so fast. after, he helps you up, kisses you slow and deep, he touches your jaw gently and pulls you into his arms, forehead to yours and whispers, “thank you, darling.” like you just saved his life.
⤷ geum seongje
he smirks the moment you drop to your knees, eyes glinting with something dark. “damn, baby. didn’t think you had it in you.” but when your mouth sinks down on him, that smirk vanishes—replaced by a look that’s feral.
his hand fists your hair, not rough at first, but when you moan around him? he pulls—hard. “fuck—keep doing that,” he growls, “you look so good like this. fuck, you’re mine.” keeping you there as his hips twitch forward. he pulls—not to hurt you, but to keep you there, like he needs it. his other hand wraps around the back of your neck, firm and possessive, holding you close as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth.
“look at me,” he growls. “i said—look.” his pupils are blown wide, gaze locked on yours like you’ve got him under a spell. “you’re fucking perfect like this,” he pants. “mine. you get that? mine.”
“fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums with a sharp gasp, head tilting back as his muscles tighten, breath ragged. the moan he lets out is raw, needy, almost desperate—the kind that lingers in your ears long after.
and afterward, he yanks you into his lap, kissing you sloppily, breathing you in like he needs you to live. “don’t ever do that for anyone else,” he whispers against your lips, “i’ll lose my fucking mind.”
⤷ oh beomseok
he stares when you kneel in front of him—eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe what’s about to happen. “a-are you… really gonna—?” his voice is so quiet, it barely comes out. he shifts back on the bed like he doesn’t know where to put his hands. but he doesn’t stop you—he can’t. and the moment you wrap your lips around him, he breaks. “f-fuck—wait—” his head falls back instantly, a choked gasp punching out of him as his fingers grasp at the sheets.
his glasses slide down a bit, his breath stuttering as the heat rushes straight to his face. he whimpers when you take him deeper, soft and sharp, his thighs trembling slightly as he tries so hard not to move. “you look so good like this,” he pants. “fuck, you’re gonna make me—” he cums suddenly, hips twitching up into your mouth before he can warn you. it’s high-pitched, needy, almost embarrassed as he moans through it—his glasses fogged, his whole body tensed and shaking. afterward, he reaches for you with trembling hands, pulling you against his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “how am i supposed to act normal after that?” his usually deep voice is slightly higher now, still recovering from the high.
if u liked this, a reblog would be greatly appreciated to help my work reach other people as well >><< !! thank u thank u sm
synopsis: seongje turning into a whining pathetic masochist after his girl slaps him in an argument. lol.
cw: MDNI, aged up obviously, slapping, spitting, choking, biting, handjob, thigh riding, overstimulation, masochism, sadism, seongje crying lowkey, pet names
you wanted to see him like this. it was rare but the rarity of it was what got you going; seeing seongje below you, whimpering like a pathetic dog. you were in complete control and there was nothing more you enjoyed than abusing it.
after an aggravating argument with the poor guy under you, you lost your composure, ready to walk out of the door until seongje grabbed your wrists, dragging you back into his room. his domineering presence, threatening and intimidating, pushing you against a wall. in times like these, you felt helpless. you hated how he towered over you with that malicious glint in his eyes, teasing at you, pointing a finger at you with that shit-eating cheshire grin on his face. the smell of cigarettes clawed at your throat, punching you in the lungs. and that’s all seongje needed to have you cornered and submit to him.
but today, today was not the day. today he failed to do that. today you were the one to push at his chest until you cornered him into a wall and when he tried to stop your one hand, you used the other to slap his face. you didn’t mean to be violent nor did you mean to hurt him. you were just overwhelmed with the heat in the room and your anger and just him.
it was just one painful slap.
that one painful slap turned something in your boyfriend. something dark. something dangerous. as if he were possessed by a demon, his head slapped to the side, he laughed, adams’s apple bobbing and shoulders shaking. when he turned to you, your stomach churned in fear and anticipation— a sadistic coil. you were enjoying it. so was he.
“did you just slap me, sweetheart?” he raised a brow, that same snarky glint in his eyes.
“i did.” you breathed, staggering a little back from him seeing the maniacal, livid look in his eyes that could devastate a whole audience.
“my baby girl just hit me.” he stated to himself.
his eyes dead on you. the shift in atmosphere weighed down on you. it was hot and fuzzy and you couldn’t ignore the desire and need in your stomach from the way he gazed at you. seongje tilted his head back with a airy chuckle before coming to an abrupt stop. another look at your eyes and then at your lips.
“do it again.” he ordered, “slap me.”
“w-what?” you wavered, unsure of what just came out of your boyfriend’s mouth.
with another step back you watched him pull himself off against the wall to lunge at you. no second to breathe or grasp onto what just happened, seongje was onto you. he bit your bottom lip with a low groan. he glided his tongue over the bite before smacking another kiss to your parted mouth. it was more a kiss to your teeth than it was to your lips that were slightly trembling from the shock. he pulled away, breathless and red, sweat forming on his temple. a swift slide of his fingers and his glasses were off and thrown onto the night stand.
“don’t make me ask again, y/n.” he purred, his breath tickling your cheeks, “slap me.”
it took you a minute to register it all and you came to the realization that he’d probably do anything to get slapped in the face by his pretty girlfriend right now and you’d take advantage of that. take advantage of him. work him dry.
“what if i said no?” you asked, biting your bottom lip gentler than seongje had.
seongje tilted his head to the side in amusement, a low chuckle barreling in his chest, the fluorescent light revealed the red mark from your palm on his chisled face. his jaw was taut. that hunger in his eyes only raging by the second. every breath he took came out shallow as if he were holding himself back. you jutted your jaw out in false confidence, wanting to tease him more; get on his nerves until he broke.
“geum seongje. if you want me to slap you get on the bed.” you demanded with a light nudge on his shoulder.
you stood face-to-face with him with a smirk threatening to creep up your face. you enjoyed the slight, barely noticeable surprise in his face. it turned you on.
“don’t make me ask again, seongje.” you mocked him, “get on the bed.”
“okay. whatever you say, darling.” he complied with a nod and a smirk.
once he was on the edge of the bed, you swiftly straddled his laps, pushing him in the shoulders until he fell flat on his back with a low cuss. he raised a brow in question, amused, watching you crawl over him. your hair falling over his face as you bit his earlobe, a low teasing moan escaping your lips. by now, you could feel his hard-on pressing the side of your inner thigh through his sweatpants. you used your knees to push it down on his cock, earning a low groan.
“what do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, snaking his hands over your waist to stop you but you pinch him away earning another pained groan.
“you wanted this. so, take it.” you spoke through gritted teeth, grabbing his hard on with your hand “you’re so hard. just by this? you’re pathetic.”
“fuck— are you—“ you undo the strings in his sweat pants, pulling it down with his boxers, springing his twitching cock free.
pre-cum dropped from his tip, causing you to giggle. you sat between his thigh, lightly rubbing your clothed clit against it.
thwack.
you spit on your hands, making a lubricant to use to rub on his hot cock. your strokes are slow and calculated, your fists balling on his cock as you pumped agonizingly low. seongje’s brows furrowed in frustration wanting more. he bucked his hips into your fist only to get slapped in the face. hard.
“sh-shit, baby, could you go faster?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“tsk. that’s not how you ask, now is it?” you tutted, shaking your head in teasing disappointment “say please like a good boy. hmm?”
you stopped moving your hands. waiting for his plead. continuing to rub yourself against his thigh.
“p-please.” his voice came out ragged and broken. you slapped him in the face again, his face turning red. his hair a tousled mess.
“say it louder, boy.” you urged. relishing in the desperate look in his eyes. he looked completely gone.
“fuck— please— go faster!” he begged swallowing hard.
“atta boy.” you took that chance to grab his throat with one hand to squeeze it hard with no mercy until he started to audibly choke and gasp. with the other hand you started stroking harsher and faster, making him twitch and whimper with a choke.
you squeezed his cock harder and his throat. thumbing his tip to make him more sensitive, his eyelashes lined with tears that you had never seen before and your thighs clenched agaist his thighs, rubbing onto your clit in an overwhelmingly hot sensation that made you moan a little too loud. seongje struggled in your hold, gasping for air when you let go of his throat. relentlessly, you pumped his cock upwards and down until hot, white spurts of cum splattered out onto your wrists and hand. but you didn’t stop. you forced your weight onto him, riding his thighs until you reached your own climax and closed your eyes to feel the sensation take over you. your panties were soaking wet, clit sensitive causing you to twitch and writhe over your sensitive boyfriend who looked like he was about to cry.
tears and drool fell down his beautiful face. his brown hair a mess, and his taunting smirk replaced with parted lips that released whimpers and low, guttural groans. he tried to grab onto your wrist one more time only to get slapped hard in the face by you. your hands pumped mercilessly on his cock, his body twitching and shaking from overstimulation.
a cry escaped his lips “gosh, y/n. slap me again. i love it when you slap me. please.”
“yeah? you like it? open your mouth.” you said, bringing your hand up to his throat. he complied, opening his mouth. a glob of your spit trickled sloppily down his mouth, some of it splattering onto his bottom lips “swallow.”
he swallowed hard, an embarrassing high-pitched moan leaving his mouth as he pleaded for you to slap him and you did. he pleaded again. slap. slap. slap.
“o-oh my god—ngh—“ he gasped with every sensation that struck every vein in his body, “feel s’good. fuck— just like that, baby, just like that.”
“f-fuck—i’m gonna— i’m gonna cum— i’m gonna cum!” he whined, holding onto your wrist for support. his eyes rolled back, mouth parting open into a silent moan. his deep voice now a pitch higher.
he came undone for a second time. bucking his hips up into your fist in desperate attempt to ground himself.
a thick rod of his white cum spurt out of his veiny cock. seongje drawled out a long shuddering sigh, whimpering thanks yous. his face contorting from the soreness of getting slapped over and over. poor boy looked used up. flushed red and droopy eyed. seongje laid breathless and used up below. a look of surrender making its way into his eyes as if to say “you won”. the asshole smirk of his wiped right off.
summary: in which you got yourself tangled up with geum seongje. at first, it was trouble. then, it became routine. until, somehow, you became the only thing he would bleed for—willingly, violently, without regret.
pairing: geum seongje x fem!reader
genre: romance, hurt/comfort, angst
word count: 6.2k
playlist: he was chaos, he was revelry
last.
you were crouched by the side of a quiet alley behind a convenience store, setting down a paper plate with tuna and a cup of water. a tiny stray kitten had been hanging around there lately, mistrustful, but hungry. you've seen it a few times and started bringing food when you pass by.
the kitten was peeking out from under a box, inching closer. you kept still, one hand out, speaking low and soft.
then, there was a crash. a loud bang echoed from farther down the alley, and the sound of something—someone—getting slammed into a wall.
the kitten bolted instantly, disappearing into a gap between buildings.
you groaned under your breath, standing up with an irritated huff. not only did it startle the kitten, but it also startled you. you almost stumbled from the shock of the loud noise, your heart pounding rapidly.
"what the hell..." you stepped a little farther out to see the source, and then you saw him. a tall guy, maroon uniform jacket slipping off one shoulder, face stretched, hair a mess. bloodied knuckles and eyes wild.
he wasn't from your school. and by the looks of it, his opponent was already down. two more stood at a distance, too afraid to move.
the man lifted his head once, cracking his neck. then his eyes landed on you. you didn't flinch. just stared with narrowed eyes.
"go start your fight somewhere else," you said evenly. "you're not from around here."
he raised his brows and stared like he hadn't heard you right. then he smiled, crooked and wild. the kind that says, 'you've just made things interesting.'
you turned your back on him and walked off, not giving him another glance.
he stared after you. not many people talked to him like that. even fewer walked away before he decided the conversation was over.
you didn't run, but didn't linger either. just walked like you had somewhere to be, like he wasn't worth wasting another second on.
his eyes remained on you, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. a faint cut on his knuckle stung, but barely noticed.
'go start your fight somewhere else.'
'you're not from around here.'
not a scream. not a plea. not even a threat. just pure irritation. like he was some dumb dog that pissed on your shoes.
his grin curled slowly, something unhinged hiding just beneath it. he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his teeth, and lit it. the flame briefly flickered across his face before he took a drag and blew the smoke out lazily.
he'd seen people cry, scream, and beg. he'd seen how most people either froze or ran when they saw him, faces tight with fear, eyes darting around. but you?
you looked at him like he was an eyesore.
his laugh came quiet. brief. half-laugh, half-breath.
feeding a stray cat, he thought, like it was some ridiculous joke the universe threw at him. you looked too soft for your own good, too normal, too boring.
so why did you stick?
he leaned his shoulder against the wall, just for a second. watched the street where you disappeared. his blood was still warm from the fight, but that moment? that edge in your voice?
it was the first time he felt interrupted.
not threatened, not challenged. just... like someone reached into his noise and pulled something to the surface.
he didn't know your name. but that was fine. he had time.
it wasn't the next day, or the day after. but seongje still found himself wandering near that same alley. always around the same time. leaning against walls with a cigarette between his lips, smoke curling above his head like a restless thought that wouldn't burn out.
he wasn't waiting, he told himself. he just happened to be here, just passing time.
he was mid-drag when he caught a flash of familiar movement. dark hair, a recognizable bag slung over one shoulder. you were crouched near the alley's corner again, opening a can of tuna. next to your feet was the same stray kitten from before, now a little less wary, its ears twitching.
you didn't notice him at first. he said nothing.
he watched you feed the kitten. your expression wasn't anything special, just calm, focused, lips pressed together in a straight line. but he stared like it was the most peculiar thing in the world, like you were something unreal.
then you sighed and sat back on your heels, that's when your eyes flicked up, and landed right on him. you tensed slightly, like you were trying to figure out if it was him or just some other delinquent in a maroon uniform.
it was definitely him.
"you again? you muttered, standing slowly, brushing off your knees. "don't tell me you're here to start trouble again."
seongje let the cigarette dangle loosely between his fingers, gaze half-lidded. "don't flatter yourself. this is my spot now."
you snorted. "your spot? pretty sure this alley existed before you."
a grin pulled at his lips, slow and amused. that sharp glint in your eyes was still there. that same irritation, not fear, not interest. just a girl who didn't give a damn who he was.
"you always talk this much when feeding cats?" he asked.
"no. just when someone interrupts." he laughed, quiet but real.
you moved to step past him, clearly done with the conversation. but before you could, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and said slowly, "you don't scare easy, do you?"
you paused. "i don't like getting caught up in situations like this."
you walked off before he could say anything else. same calm steps. same complete disinterest in him. he stared at the kitten as it ate.
for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel bored.
you were coming out of the convenience store with a yogurt drink in hand when you felt someone matching your pace beside you.
you didn't even need to look. you felt it, like the air shifted, a shadow slipping in just a bit too close.
"miss cat-feeder," came the drawl, smug and lazy.
you rolled your eyes and kept walking. "seriously?"
"you remembered me," he said, hands in his pockets, leaning slightly sideways to peer at your face.
"no. i remembered your stupid voice."
"ouch," he grinned. "you wound me."
"what do you want?"
"just walking. not allowed to exist now?"
"not next to me, preferably." he chuckled at that, keeping stride with you anyway.
he walked like he owned the sidewalk, like even the cracks made space for him. he kept glancing at you, amused by how hard you were trying not to look.
"don't you have school?" you muttered.
"skipped."
"of course you did."
there was a beat of silence before he casually reached out and tugged at the hem of your sleeve. "what flavor?"
you jerked your arm away. "touch me again and i'll pour this on your head."
his grin widened, eyes gleaming with delight. there it is. "you're fun."
"i'm really not."
"exactly."
you stopped in your tracks. he looked at you, curious. "look," you said, eyes flat. "i don't like hanging out with loud people. so if you're looking for someone to flirt with, pick someone else."
seongje stared at you for a second, unreadable. then he smirked.
"i'm not flirting."
"good."
"i just like watching you get pissed." and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands back in his pockets like he didn't just drop a live wire into your day.
you watched him go, jaw tight.
god, he is annoying.
and worse, he knew it.
your shoes pounded against the pavement, too loud, too fast. the voices behind you were still getting closer. slurred words, the kind that came with guys who had too much time and nothing to lose. you'd told them off when they first approached, sharp and dismissive like always. but these ones didn't like hearing 'no'.
you darted around a corner, trying to cut into a side street you didn't usually take, and slammed straight into a body.
you stumbled back from the force, hands catching yourself on the person's chest, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat.
"whoa there," a familiar voice started, light and teasing.
your eyes shot up.
geum seongje.
of all people.
he was in his usual disheveled uniform, cigarette tucked between his fingers, a faint smirk already creeping up like instinct. "you really can't stay away from me, huh?"
but you weren't listening. you glanced over your shoulder, eyes scanning the street you just came from, anxiety tightening your features.
seongje's smirk faded, just a bit. his eyes narrowed.
"what happened?"
"none of your business. i need to go."
you stepped to the side, trying to move past him but his arm shot out fast, catching you by the wrist. not hard. not enough to hurt. but firm.
his voice lost all its humor.
"who."
you jerked against his grip, frustrated. "just let me go. jesus christ."
he didn't. instead, his eyes flicked toward the corner you came from. and for a brief second, something flickered through him, that thing he tried to keep under the surface unless it was time to let it loose.
then he heard footsteps and voices getting closer. the guys rounded the corner, laughing, loud, eyes scanning.
and then they saw you.
and then him.
one of them started to speak, some dumb threat halfway out of his mouth when seongje stepped forward and flicked his cigarette.
"alright," he said, eyes gleaming now. "which one of you thought chasing her was a good idea?" his tone didn't rise. he didn't shout. but it was enough.
the shift in the air was immediate, like a wire pulled taut. the guys slowed, uneasy.
"you with her?" one of them muttered, trying to size him up. seongje's lip curled in amusement.
"nah," he said, rolling his shoulder. "but she ran into me. so now you've got a problem."
one of them laughed nervously, already starting to backpedal. but it was too late.
you didn't say a word. his posture changed, loose and wild, but sharp, like the crackle before a fire starts.
"stay behind me," he muttered without looking at you. you almost snapped at him.
i didn't ask for help.
but something in the way he said it—flat, final—made you stay put.
he didn't do it for gratitude. he did it because someone pissed him off. and right now, that someone was anyone who looked at you wrong.
they didn't get the chance to react further. not really, because seongje's already on them.
the first one barely managed to raise his arm before seongje slammed his fist into his jaw, the sound cracking through the alley like a gunshot. he didn't stop, he grabbed the guy by the collar, slamming his head against the wall once, twice, three times until he crumpled like dead weight.
the second guy tried to pull something, maybe a pocketknife, but he was too slow. seongje grabbed his wrist and bended it the wrong way with a sickening snap. the guy howled, dropping the knife, and seongje grinned wider.
the last one tried to run. he got maybe five steps before seongje tackled him from behind, dragging him down like a wolf ripping through prey. there was nothing clean about the way he beat him. just pure rage unleashed in fists, knees, elbows, and feet.
the alley was quiet again. the three guys were groaning, two on the ground and one stumbling away. none of them dared to look back.
seongje stood in the center of it, breathing a little heavier, the scrape on his knuckles raw and fresh. blood trickled slowly down his arm, but he didn't seem to care. not even a glance at it.
you stared. not because you were scared of the violence. you'd known what he was capable of. you'd just never seen it up close. not like this.
there was a kind of stillness around him now, but it wasn't peace. it was the kind of stillness right after lightning hits the ground. charged, dangerous, humming under the surface.
he turned toward you, running a hand through his hair. eyes sharper now, less unhinged than before, but still wild.
"you good?" you hesitated.
"you didn't have to do that." he shrugged.
"i didn't do it for you." you frowned, annoyed.
"then why-"
"they looked at you like they could touch you," he said, voice low and quiet. "i didn't like that."
it came out too calm. like he was just stating a fact. like it was that simple.
you stared at him. "that's not normal."
he tilted his head. "i'm not normal."
you stood there in the silence again, tension thick between you both. then he looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers once.
"you gonna keep staring, or you gonna say thank you?"
you exhaled sharply. "i didn't ask you to help."
his lip twitched. "you didn't have to."
you started walking past him, brushing your shoulder lightly against his arm. "don't follow me."
he didn't. but he watched you go. watched like a wolf who'd just caught the scent of something that didn't run fast enough.
and this time, it wasn't about teasing you for attention anymore. it was something else. something worse.
something's changed. it had been days. you hadn't seen him near the alley, near the store, nowhere. and honestly, you were glad. the fight had left a sour taste in your mouth. not fear exactly, but it reminded you of the line he walked. the kind of line that most people never went near.
so when you saw him again leaning against the vending machine right outside the store, your steps faltered.
he noticed, eyes tracking you immediately. not grinning, not talking. just watching.
you stiffened, but kept walking. no use turning back now. you passed him without a word.
"you're avoiding me," he said. you didn't stop. "smart," he added after a beat.
that did it. you turned slightly, arms crossed, tone flat. "what do you want now?"
he looked you over, slower this time. less playful. like he was measuring something invisible.
"you said don't follow you," he said. "so i didn't."
"and yet, here you are."
"i was here first."
you hated that he had a point.
he pulled out a soda from the vending machine and cracked it open, taking a lazy sip. "i scared you."
"no you didn't."
his head tilted. "but you looked at me different after that day." you didn't reply. "you don't like people like me," he went on. "you don't like what i do. the way i fight. the way i look at you."
your throat tightened. "you make it sound like i'm supposed to like it."
he smiled, small, almost secret. "you're not."
you sighed and turned away again, but this time, his voice became lower. less teasing.
"you're not scared of me," he said. "but you're careful now." you paused. "i get it," he added. "but you should know something."
"what?" you asked warily.
"i'd kill for you without thinking."
the words didn't sound romantic. they didn't even sound intense. they were just real.
heavy. simple. dangerous.
you looked at him. at the bruised knuckles, the lazy posture, the eyes that never stopped watching you. and for the first time, you didn't see an annoying prick. you saw the storm behind his grin.
you didn't say a word as you walked away. but you walked slower this time.
the sky was gray, and the wind carried that dry chill that always came with autumn.
you didn't mean to come this way. really, you didn't. but this street was quieter than the main road, and your head was already aching from a whole day of voices, noise, and pressure from everyone around you.
your friends had found out. not just about anyone, but him. a certain delinquent hanging around you. not just anyone either, but someone from the union.
they kept telling you the same thing. stop meeting him, cut him off, stay away before things got worse. that's all you've been hearing for days. from different mouths, but the same message, over and over. as if you hadn't thought about that already. like you hadn't been trying.
you were tired. bone-deep, soul tired.
and there he was.
same place. same vending machine. like he'd been waiting, but not really. like he knew you'd come eventually.
seongje glanced up, surprised, but only a little. his cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, his jacket loose, like he didn't care how cold it was getting.
you stopped a few steps away and didn't say anything.
he raised a brow. "lost?"
"no," you said, too flat, too fast.
he stared. then blew out smoke in a low exhale. "you look like shit."
you snorted faintly. "thanks."
he nodded toward the chair beside him. "sit if you want."
"i didn't come to hang out with you."
"didn't say you did."
still, you sat. not close, just near enough to feel the warmth of someone else existing beside you. near enough to not feel completely alone. you stayed like that for a while. nothing said.
then, without looking at him, you muttered, "why are you like this?"
his brow quirked. "like what?"
"crazy. violent. all of it."
a beat. then a shrug. "it's fun."
you sighed, frustrated but not surprised.
and then, so softly that he almost didn't hear it, you said, "you make everything worse. but today... i don't know. you don't feel loud." that caught him off guard.
he turned to look at you, cigarette paused halfway to his lips.
you didn't meet his eyes. you just sat there, face turned to the street. like this, quiet and tired and not trying to prove anything, you looked different.
more fragile. not weak, never that. but human.
seongje flicked his ash away. "stay, then," he said. "if it helps."
you didn't answer. but you didn't leave either. and for once, he didn't push you to speak. he just let you be. which, for someone like him, was a kind of affection.
the unspoken kind.
the kind that doesn't ask for anything back.
another day, and there he was again. it wasn't often that you saw him alone like this. really alone. no noise. no laughter. no fights.
just seongje, slouched low on the steps behind an old building, elbows on his knees, head tilted back like he was trying to drown in the grey sky. he didn't notice you at first, too wrapped in whatever chaos lived behind his eyes.
you should've kept walking. you meant to keep walking. but something stopped you. maybe it was the stillness. maybe it was the fact that for the first time since you met him, he didn't look like someone trying to stir shit up. he looked tired.
you approached slowly, footsteps soft. he heard you eventually, turning just slightly to glance your way. his usual grin didn't show up.
"you stalking me now?" he said, voice low, like he couldn't be bothered to make it sound playful.
"i was just walking by."
"uh-huh."
you didn't sit beside him. you stood a little off to the side, arms folded, eyes scanning his face. there was a bruise on his cheekbone, not fresh but healing, and a split on his lower lip.
"what happened this time?"
"some idiot." he muttered. "deserved worse than what he got."
you rolled your eyes. "that doesn't narrow it down."
he smirked faintly. but it didn't last. he looked back up at the sky. "ever feel like you're stuck in a room that's too small, and the only way to breathe is to break something?"
you blinked. that wasn't the answer you expected. you said nothing.
he let out a low breath. "yeah. never mind."
you hesitated, then stepped closer. not sitting, just standing near him.
"i don't get you." you said finally.
"good."
"but i care."
that made him look at you again. not with that lazy, cocky grin. not with the sharp glint he gave the people he was about to wreck.
just... eyes. dark, unreadable, confused.
"you care?" he repeated, almost mocking, but there was no real heat in it.
you nodded. "i don't want to, but i do."
the silence that followed was heavier than anything he could've said.
you rubbed at your sleeve, eyes darting away. "it's stupid."
he stared a second longer, then tilted his head. "i'm not gonna be good for you," he said flatly. no apology in it. just fact.
"i know."
"i'll hurt people."
"i know."
"i might hurt you."
your gaze snapped back to his. "then i'll leave."
a pause.
and for the first time, his expression shifted, something sharp flickering behind his eyes, like the idea of you leaving physically bothered him.
but you held his stare. "i don't deserve to be hurt by you."
he didn't answer. when you turned to go, he didn't stop you. he didn't grab your wrist. he didn't make a scene. he just watched you leave like someone who'd been left too many times before to call out now.
and that was how you knew it wasn't just some sort of game to him anymore.
it was supposed to be just another normal day. you were going to meet up with a friend from a different school. but somehow, word got around that you'd said something snappy to the wrong group of boys the other day, boys who thought they could intimidate you into taking it back. you didn't.
but now they were standing in front of you in the alley near the rear exit of the building. three of them, too close, too smug, and too stupid to understand that they were walking into something far worse than your sharp tongue.
because seongje had seen.
he wasn't supposed to be there. you didn't even know why he was around this part of the city. but the second his eyes locked on the scene, on you cornered, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched, something dark lit behind his expression.
he didn't run. he didn't shout. he just walked, calm as anything, like he had all the time in the world. the sound of his steps echoing on the pavement made all three boys turn.
"oi," he said, voice low and slow.
the boys stiffened. one of them scoffed. "the hell are you?"
seongje grinned cockily. "me? i'm geum seongje. you dumb fucks."
his name dropped like a dead weight. the air shifted. one of them paled a little, while another took an unconscious step back.
"oh—shit—" one of them muttered under his breath, recognizing it too late.
then his eyes flickered to you. "you okay?"
you swallowed. "i've got it."
"wrong answer."
he passed the boys like they weren't even there, stepping between them and you, like drawing a line they couldn't cross anymore.
"you wanna explain why the hell you're trying to corner mine?"
the word slipped out like instinct. your breath caught.
the boys hesitated. one of them backed up. the dumbest one laughed nervously.
"you serious, man? you dating this chick or something?"
seongje didn't answer right away. instead, he pulled out his glasses, the metal catching the light for a second. then, without a word, he took your hand gently, almost unnervingly so, and placed them in your palm.
"i don't repeat myself."
and that was the only warning they got. it wasn't a fight. it was a statement.
a clear, brutal, one-sided reminder that you were off-limits. that if they so much as looked at you again, they'd wake up in pieces.
he didn't let it last long. he didn't need to.
when it was over, and the three of them were groaning on the pavement, he turned to you, no grin now, just quiet breathing. without a word, he took the glasses from your hand and slid them back on.
"you didn't need to do that," you said quietly.
"they shouldn't have looked at you like they could."
"that's not how this works."
he glanced at you, sharp. "it is now."
you looked away, jaw tight. "you act like i'm yours."
another beat of silence. the only sound was the wind through rusted fences. and then,
"you are," he said simply.
you stared at him, your heart thudded too loud.
"you can't just—claim people."
"i can."
"why?" he held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his.
"you're the only thing i don't want broken."
he said it like it bothered him. like the truth of it irritated the hell out of him.
you didn't know what to say. so you didn't. you just walked beside him as he left the alley, silent. but this time, you stayed close.
and this time, he didn't grin. he just walked with you like he always meant to.
the day had been long. longer than you thought it would be. school, people, life. everything felt suffocating. your body ached, your mind was frayed, and every little thing seemed to pile on top of you until you could barely keep your head above water.
but then, through the haze of exhaustion, you saw him.
seongje, leaning against your school gate. unbothered and detached. his posture was casual, his eyes scanning the crowd of students coming out of school. but the moment your gaze locked onto him, your heart gave a small jolt of relief.
there. him. the one person who, for reasons you still couldn't fully understand, made you feel safe. your body seemed to move on its own, your feet carrying you toward him without a second thought.
and then before you could even process what you were doing, you were already running toward him, arms outstretched, chest tight from the strain of everything you'd been holding inside all day.
the moment you reached him, you didn't stop. you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest.
you hummed. the noise was quiet, like a soft sigh of contentment, and for the first time all day, your muscles finally relaxed.
his scent, the familiar warmth of him, it was like home. a feeling you hadn't known you were missing until it was there, pressing against you in a way you couldn't explain.
for a split second, everything felt peaceful. you could rest now. let everything melt away. with him, it felt like nothing else mattered.
seongje froze. his first instinct was to step back, to pull away, because this wasn't how things were supposed to be. but when you stayed against him, not saying anything, just holding him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, something inside him twisted.
what the hell?
he couldn't breathe for a second. your arms around him, your face buried against him like you needed him. like he was something more than just some crazy bastard. he didn't know what to do with it.
you were so soft against him. so warm. his heartbeat, which had been steady, quickened as your arms tightened just slightly. and his body, despite the automatic urge to pull away, instinctively responded, his hands hovering at his sides, unsure of where to put them, but not wanting to make you pull away.
his reaction was slow. he was staring down at you, his usual detached expression gone, replaced with a mix of confusion and something closer to... discomfort. he didn't know how to handle it.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, he placed his hand awkwardly on your back, barely enough to return the gesture, but it was something. just a gentle pressure, like he was trying to let you know he wasn't going to push you away. but he wouldn't pull you in either. not fully.
his voice came out rough, not because he was angry, but because he didn't have the words to make sense of what was happening. "you... okay?" he asked, his voice low. it was like he was trying to understand you better. trying, in his strange way, to care.
and when you hummed again, your body still pressed against him like you needed nothing more, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him. subtle, but undeniable.
he didn't say anything else, but he did one thing he never thought he would. he let you stay there, his hand still on your back, just enough to show that maybe, just maybe, he didn't mind you being this close.
thoughts had been swirling around your head. people already knew who you were, and the kind of connection you had with geum seongje. you'd been hearing disapproving remarks from people you knew, left and right.
but that wasn't what was bothering you. it was when one of your friends asked, "when did you even start dating geum seongje?"
you didn't know how to answer that. you weren't dating. were you even together? you'd been so focused on how you felt about him, so content with the time you were spending together, that you'd forgotten to ask the most important question.
where do you stand in his life?
so you finally asked, quietly. on a cold night, after one of his disappearances. you looked at him and said, "what are we, seongje?"
he didn't look at you right away. he just lit a cigarette, sat back like you didn't just ask something that's clawing at your ribs.
then, after a long pause, he said, "you don't need a label for something i'd kill over."
still too vague. so you pressed. "so that's it? you can show up and disappear and wreck people and i'm just... what? someone you know?"
now he's irritated. not because you're wrong, but because his feelings itch under his skin worse than blood.
he dragged you close by the wrist, eyes burning, voice low and rough. "you're mine. you're not like the others. you don't walk away from me. and i'll kill anyone who touches you."
it became even clearer in actions. he doesn't flirt with others. he doesn't sleep around. he shows up when you're hurt, when you need help, or even just when the silence gets too heavy. his violence becomes more controlled around you. his chaos pauses for you.
and if you ever try to walk away, not out of fear, but heartbreak, he doesn't beg. but he follows.
he shows up in the dark and says, "you don't get to leave. you're the only thing i don't want to break."
so no, you don't get a title. but you get certainty. the kind that claws into you and never lets go.
you were at seongje's place, curled up in the corner of his bed, wearing one of his hoodies, watching something on your phone. occasionally, you laughed, your brow twitching, your mouth tugging in little ways. you probably didn't know he was watching.
he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. a cigarette rested between his fingers, forgotten halfway through.
it should've been just another moment. just another afternoon with you near. that's all it was. but it wasn't.
something cracked. it was quiet. internal. sudden.
he looked at you, really looked, and it hit him like a pipe to the chest. he'd always known you were different.
you didn't scream like the world did, you didn't beg to get closer to him, or flinch when he tore the world apart with his bare hands. you didn't reach to fix what couldn't be fixed.
you just were. and he couldn't fucking breathe.
he'd thought what he felt for you was already obsession. he thought the way he needed you around—the way his days didn't start right unless he saw your face—was already too much.
but this? right now? it was worse.
because you weren't even doing anything. you were just there, in his space like you belonged. and he couldn't stand it.
he didn't blink, didn't move. his heart was beating too fast, too heavy. like it was trying to get out of his chest, like it was trying to claw its way toward you.
you looked up at him, catching the stare.
"what?" you asked, your voice soft, lazy with comfort.
that was the final hit. his cigarette dropped to the floor. he stood and crossed the room in two strides.
you blinked and sat up, shifting to the edge of the bed. confused, then mildly concerned, because he wasn't saying anything. just looking at you like he was on the edge of something ugly.
"what is it?" you asked again.
he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands braced on the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"you," he muttered, low, dangerous, barely holding back the quake in his chest. "you don't even fucking know, do you."
you blinked in confusion, "know what?"
"that i'm already gone."
he leaned in close, breath warm against your skin. his hands were clenched on the sheets beside your thighs.
"i didn't think it could get worse," he said, tone ragged. "but it did. just now. just looking at you."
"seongje-"
he didn't let you finish. his voice came out lower. hoarser.
"i'd burn down everything. rip open anyone. just to keep this. you. whatever the fuck this is—"
he pressed his forehead against your knee. his voice dropped, barely a whisper now, like it hurt him to say.
"—it's mine."
your fingers moved before your words did. you reached out, slow and certain, and slipped your hand into his hair, like you knew something inside him was coming apart at the seams, and you needed to keep it from unraveling further.
you didn't flinch. didn't pull away from the sharpness in his voice or the weight behind his words.
instead, you curled your fingers gently against his scalp and said, soft but steady, "you don't have to break things just to prove you want to keep me. i'm not going anywhere."
that did something to him. his breath hitched, quiet, jaw clenched. you didn't treat his madness like something to be pitied or feared. you didn't try to fix it. you didn't flinch from the wreckage. you just understood it was there and touched it anyway.
his arms wrapped around your waist almost without thinking, head still pressed to your knee like it was the only place he could breathe.
then you said it, quietly. not to tease, not to demand. just honest. like it had always been true.
"you are my home."
and that was the thing that shattered him. because he didn't have a home. not really, never did. he was a creature built from chaos and flame and blood. the idea that someone could look at him and find rest?
it wrecked him in a way no fist ever could. his grip tightened. not out of fear of you leaving. but because you just gave him something he didn't know he'd been starving for all his life. and now that he had it, he'd kill the whole world before he let it go.
he didn't know what to say yet. so when you gently pulled him toward the bed, he didn't resist. he didn't say something cocky or crass like he usually would. he just let you.
you lay down first, guiding him beside you. he collapsed next to you like a man thrown off balance. arms still around your waist, his head buried against the curve of your neck. as if he could crawl inside your skin just to get closer.
your fingers ran through his hair, slow, rhythmic, soothing. the storm inside him didn't vanish, but it quieted. simmered.
your voice cut through the quiet, soft and careful. "do you love me?"
he froze. he didn't pull away, but he did stop breathing for a second. his gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable. then he took a slow breath, jaw tightening.
love? what the hell was that supposed to feel like? that was too unfamiliar. too soft.
he didn't know. he'd never had it. not from anyone. not for anyone. all he'd ever known was survival, pleasure, and pain. wanting things so badly he broke them just to feel something. hurting because it was the only way to know he was alive.
but this? this thing in his chest, this raw, aching, burning thing that only grew worse the longer you touched him, it was something else.
so he didn't lie. he didn't pretend. he spoke against your skin, voice hoarse and quiet.
"i don't know what love is. but i know i can't fucking stand the thought of you not being here."
another breath. he pulled you closer.
"you're the only thing that makes me feel calm and insane at the same time. you—" he exhaled, shaky now, like it hurt to say, "—you make me feel too much. and i can't stop it."
his fingers dug into the back of your shirt. possessive. desperate.
"i don't know if it's love, but i know this—you're mine. you've been mine since the moment i saw you. doesn't matter if you run, or scream, or try to tear me out of your chest. you're still mine."
"you're the air that i breathe," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, like a confession no one else was meant to hear. "and i'd tear the world apart to keep you. no hesitation. no mercy."
"when i look at you, it hurts." he said. "but i want that hurt. over and over again. you're the only thing i'd bleed for without thinking twice."
he let the silence stretch, like he wanted the weight of his words to press against you. crush you, mark you, bind you to him in the only way he knew how.
it was not a confession, but a surrender.
your chest tightened. your eyes stung. and you hated that they did, because you weren't sad. you weren't broken.
you were just... full. full of him. of this.
a shaky breath escaped you as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing just beneath his eye, like you needed to touch something solid to believe any of this was real.
you smiled. small, trembling, but true.
"whatever it is you feel for me, let it consume you." your voice was steady, despite the trembling in your chest. "break for me. burn only for me. want no one else—because i don't want anyone but you."
he stared at you like you'd just taken the air out of his lungs.
"i don't care if it's wrong, or selfish, or if the world thinks i've lost my mind." your hand slid back into his hair gently. "you're mine, geum seongje. just as much as i'm yours."
his hands were already on your waist, but they tightened at those words, like something inside him finally snapped.
and he kissed you. it wasn't soft. it wasn't careful. it was desperate, like he needed to feel everything at once, like if he didn't press every inch of you into him, he might fall apart.
you kissed him back just as hard, just as aching, fingers curling in his hair like you could anchor the both of you with the weight of your want.
and in that moment, nothing else mattered.
not the danger in his eyes. not the chaos in his soul. not the way the world would look at you.
because you knew him. and you would choose him—still. every time.
for you, he would bleed himself dry a thousand times—willingly, completely, because he didn't know how not to.
Seongje sat straight-backed in the bowling room, the fluorescent lights above casting a cold glare on the polished table. His sharp eyes remained fixed on the flow of conversation, the words bouncing back and forth between Baekjin and some other union guys.
Then his phone buzzed.
Just once—short, deliberate. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But to Seongje, it was immediate. His fingers twitched subtly, reaching under the table to check the notification. One glance at the screen and his composure cracked, if only for a second.
It was from you.
He tapped it open.
A photo. A very familiar shirt. His shirt. The crisp white of his school uniform, oversized on you, buttoned only halfway. And nothing else in sight.
His breath caught in his throat.
The image was innocent enough—if someone didn’t know what they were looking at. But he knew. That was his uniform. That was his room. And that smug little smirk you wore in the photo? Fuck. you were doing this on purpose.
His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the phone. You were messing with him. While he was in the middle of an important meeting with Baekjin of all people.
“Seongje?”
He blinked. Baekjin had stopped talking, his eyes narrowing slightly at Seongje’s sudden silence.
“I—” Seongje stood abruptly, sliding the chair back. “i need to take this”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
The moment he was out the door, he was already calling you, the phone pressed tight to his ear, his free hand raking through his hair as he stalked down the hallway.
The line clicked. “You think you’re fucking funny?” he muttered, voice low and dangerous.
Your laugh spilled through the line, light and sweet with a devilish edge. Seongje pressed his lips into a thin line, already feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck. He ducked into a quiet stairwell, leaning against the concrete wall, one hand braced against it as if the cool surface could ground him.
“You're not even wearing anything underneath, are you?” he asked, voice rough now, lower, darker. The image of you in his shirt—bare, a few undone buttons, that smirk—burned into his mind.
You sighed dramatically through the speaker. “Mmm… maybe just your cologne,” you murmured. “Smells like you. Feels like you too. Kinda wish it was you though…”
His grip on the phone tightened.
“Y/N,” he warned, but his voice betrayed him—already thick with need.
“What?” you purred. “You’re the one who left me all alone… I got bored. Thought I’d remind you what you’re missing.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, lips twitching into a smirk. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Am I?” you whispered, sultry and sweet. “If you were here… what would you do, Seongje?”
He tilted his head back against the wall, jaw clenched. There was a long pause. You could hear the way he breathed—deep, heavy, trying to keep control.
His reply came slow, deliberate. “I’d make sure you couldn’t walk by the time I’m done.”
Your breath hitched, and he heard it—grinned at it.
“I’d pin you right against the bed wearing only that damn shirt,” he went on, voice now a smooth growl.
“And I wouldn’t even take it off. Just push it up, make you beg for more, make you say my name until your throat’s sore.”
You were silent now, biting your lip. The tension was electric even through the phone.Then Seongje chuckled—low, cocky.
“What? Quiet now? Thought you wanted to play.”
Your voice came out breathless, almost a whimper. “Seongje…”
He ran a hand through his hair again, composing himself just enough to speak clearly. “Just wait till I get back. Stay in that damn shirt and don't touch yourself,” he added firmly. “That’s mine to take care of.”
And before you could respond, the line cut—he’d hung up.
But not before whispering one last promise:
“Hope you can still talk by the time I’m done.”
.
.
.
Your heart had been racing since he hung up.
You did what he told you—stayed in his shirt, bare and mind spinning. The silence after the call was deafening, filled only by the distant ticking of the clock and the heavy thump of your pulse in your ears. Every second that passed just built up the tension, the anticipation.
Then came the knock. Sharp. Urgent.
Before you could fully process it, you were already moving, bare feet against the floor, hand trembling slightly as you reached for the door. You opened it—
And then you couldn’t even breathe.
Because Seongje didn’t say a word.
He didn’t smirk.
Didn’t greet you.
He grabbed you.
One arm snaked around your waist and shoved you inside as his other hand slammed the door shut behind him. The next thing you knew, your back hit the wall with a dull thud and your breath caught in your throat. His mouth was right there—hovering, dangerous, lips parted just slightly as his eyes scanned you, slow and hungry.
“You’re so fucking bold, huh?” he breathed out, voice low and rasped with restraint. “Wearing my shirt, sending me that shit during a meeting?” He laughed, but it wasn’t amused—it was dark, crazy, hungry.
His hands slid under the hem of the shirt, fingers grazing your bare skin. “You think I wouldn’t lose my fucking mind the second I saw that? You wanted me like this, didn’t you?”
You barely managed a word before his lips ghosted over yours—close enough to feel, not close enough to satisfy.
He smirked, tilting his head. “You gonna answer me, or you already too dumb to think?”
One of his legs slid between yours, pressing in just enough to make you shift, and his grip on your waist tightened.
“I rushed here,” he muttered, eyes dropping to your lips. “Didn’t even end the meeting with Baekjin. Just got up and left like a fucking maniac.”
Then, a pause—his eyes flicked back up to yours.
“Now you’re gonna pay for it.”
And with that, Seongje crashed his lips into yours like a wave breaking against a cliff—unrelenting, wild, needy. There was no softness in the way he kissed you, just raw heat and the taste of revenge for the hell you’d put him through. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, pulling you flush against him like he couldn’t stand a single inch of space between your bodies.
You gasped into his mouth, and he took it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding past your lips with a growl low in his throat. He tasted like mint and something darker—bitten-back frustration, lust sharpened into chaos. The wall was cold at your back, but Seongje’s body was burning.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered against your lips, breathless as he kissed down the side of your jaw, his voice ragged. “Do you know what you did to me?”
You whimpered when his teeth grazed your neck, and he chuckled—completely unhinged and loving it.
“You remember what I said on the phone?”
You nodded, breath shaky. “Y-Yeah.”
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, voice dark and dangerous.
“Good. ‘Cause I’m about to do every single fucking thing I promised.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you again—his grin crooked, pupils blown wide, hair falling into his eyes.
“And baby, I hope you’ve got all night.”
Before you could even catch your breath, Seongje grabbed you by the back of the thighs and lifted you with ease. You yelped, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he carried you through the hallway like you weighed nothing, his mouth still attacking your neck with feverish kisses and the occasional bite that made your toes curl.
“You’re mine tonight,” he growled into your skin, lips dragging hot along your collarbone. “Mine to ruin, mine to fuck senseless, mine to hear screaming my name.”
He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot and didn’t slow down. The second your back hit the mattress, he was on you—hovering over you with that look in his eyes. That manic, beautiful kind of obsession that made your stomach twist and your thighs clench.
His hands yanked the shirt open, buttons popping and scattering across the sheets as he groaned at the sight underneath. “Fuck… just like that, baby. Just like I imagined.”
He didn’t give you a second to speak before pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding down your body like he owned every inch of it.
“Remember what I said?” he rasped, lips ghosting over your jaw as his knee nudged your thighs apart. “How I’d pin you down, leave this shirt on, and make you beg?”
You nodded, chest heaving, lips parted in anticipation.
Seongje smirked—feral, cocky, dripping with heat. “Good. Then shut up and take it.”
And then he kissed you again—hard—as his body sank down against yours.
He didn’t waste time.
With your wrists still pinned above your head, Seongje leaned down and dragged his tongue slowly along the side of your neck, letting out a low, guttural groan that vibrated against your skin.
“Look at you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Already squirming and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”
His free hand slid between your legs, palm pressing against the heat there through barely-there fabric. You bucked your hips up instinctively, but he just pressed harder—teasing.
“Uh-uh,” he clicked his tongue. “You don’t get to be impatient. You started this, baby. You don’t get to rush now.”
He kissed down your chest, nipping and licking as he went, only pulling away to rip the last remaining layer from your body like it offended him. His shirt hung open on your body, collar half-off your shoulder as you writhed beneath him, and he looked up at you with a crooked grin and wild eyes.
“God, you look so fucking good like this,” he muttered, sliding two fingers along your folds. “So wet for me already—were you touching yourself before I got here?”
Your breath hitched, and that was answer enough.
He laughed—deep and amused, but dark. “You’re unbelievable,” he growled,
Then his fingers sank into you—slow but deep, and you gasped, hips lifting off the bed, only for his palm to slam down on your thigh to hold you still.
“Stay the fuck down,” he snarled, pace quickening. “I said I’d make you beg, didn’t I?”
He curled his fingers just right, brushing that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and you cried out his name.
Seongje leaned down, licking over your bottom lip before biting it. “That’s it. Moan louder. Let the whole damn neighborhood know who’s making you feel this good.”
His fingers picked up a brutal rhythm, and you were already close—your body shaking, nerves on fire, your moans getting desperate.
But just when you were about to fall apart, he pulled away.
“Wha—Seongje!”
He smirked, licking his fingers slow. “Tasted too good to let you cum that easy, babe.”
Your body was trembling—slick, sensitive, and on the edge of unraveling. Every nerve screamed for release, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you looked up at him, eyes glassy with need.
But Seongje just watched you for a second—his head tilted, lips parted slightly, pupils blown so wide you could barely see the brown in his eyes anymore. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, the veins in his forearms flexing as he braced himself above you, hand still glistening from your arousal.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and ruined, almost awed. “Completely wrecked and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
He leaned in, dragging his fingers up your thigh—slow, deliberate, possessive. “You feel that?” he asked, letting two fingers press lightly against your core again, not pushing in this time, just resting there to tease. “All this wet, this mess… this is mine.”
You whimpered, hips twitching, eyes begging for more.
That crooked, cocky smirk returned to his face—half dangerous, half starving. He leaned closer, his nose brushing yours.
“Good,” he whispered, his voice like silk over steel. “Because I’m about to ruin you.”
Then, finally, he sat up just enough to reach down—and with slow, sharp precision, undid his belt. The leather unbuckled with a soft snap, followed by the low clink of metal that made your breath hitch. His eyes never left yours as he slid the belt out of its loops, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud.
“I’ve been thinking about this since the second you sent that photo,” he muttered, his tone dark and husky. “And now that I’ve got you right where I want you…”
His fingers trailed down your chest again, this time with intent.
“Now I’m gonna fuck you like I promised”
He shoved his pants down just far enough to free himself, thick and already rock hard, veins prominent, tip flushed and glistening. The sight alone made your thighs tremble—and Seongje noticed.
“Shit, you’re shaking already?” he huffed out a laugh, gripping himself at the base and giving a slow, teasing stroke while watching your every twitch. “Poor baby. You gonna cry when I stretch you out?”
Your breath caught, and he grinned like the devil.
He settled between your legs, grabbing your thighs and dragging you down the bed until your hips were at the edge of the mattress. “Keep those eyes on me,” he growled, lining himself up. “I wanna see your face when I slide into this perfect pussy.”
And then—fuck—he pushed in.
He didn’t go slow. No warning. No mercy.
You gasped—back arching, mouth falling open—as he bottomed out in one deep, possessive thrust that stole every thought from your head.
“Shit,” Seongje groaned, voice cracking with restraint. “You’re so fucking tight—gripping me like you missed this.”
He gave you no time to adjust. He pulled back and snapped his hips forward again, setting a brutal rhythm that made the bed frame slam into the wall and your moans turn to choked cries.
One hand grabbed your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, claiming—and the other pressed down on your hip, pinning you in place as he fucked into you like a man possessed.
“This what you wanted, huh?” he growled between ragged breaths. “You wear my shirt, send me that filthy little pic while I’m in a fucking meeting, knowing damn well I’d lose my mind?”
His hips slammed into yours harder.
“You wanted this,” he hissed, leaning down, sweat-slicked skin against yours. “Wanted me out of my mind, fucking you into the mattress like an animal.”
You couldn’t even answer—just desperate moans and breathless nods as he ruined you in the best way possible. Seongje kissed you again—biting your lip this time, tongue sliding hot and needy into your mouth as he fucked you through every word he promised on that call.
“I told you,” he whispered against your lips. “You were gonna regret teasing me.”
Then he slammed into you again, and again—and you knew…You were going to feel this for days.
"Fuck– seongje.."
You were already falling apart—legs shaking, throat hoarse from moaning his name like a prayer, your nails digging into the sheets for any kind of grounding. But Seongje wasn’t even close to done.
He could feel your walls fluttering around him, could see the way your eyes were rolling back just before you came—and he loved it.
“Fuck—there it is,” he hissed, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him. “Cum for me. Right now.”
And you did.
Your body arched violently, pleasure crashing through you in waves, pulse pounding in your ears, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all.
But Seongje didn’t stop.
“Ah—wait—!” you gasped, trembling beneath him, overstimulated and still twitching.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” he growled, voice rough and wrecked as he kept thrusting into your oversensitive core. “You’re not done. I said I was gonna ruin you, remember?”
He was relentless—slamming into you at a punishing pace, watching your face twist in pleasure-laced agony. Your hands scrambled for his arms, anything to slow him down, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head again.
“Take it,” he snarled, sweat dripping from his temple as he leaned in.
You were babbling now—words lost, cries spilling from your throat as the overstimulation pushed you past the edge again, this orgasm hitting harder, shaking your entire body.
“Fucking hell,” Seongje gasped, eyes dark, wild, obsessed. “You’re still clenching—shit, you like this, don’t you? Getting fucked dumb—my perfect little mess.”
You didn’t know how you had anything left to give. Your body felt like it had been set on fire and then thrown into bliss—shaking, overstimulated, soaked. But when Seongje leaned over you again, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes, lips brushing against your jaw, you couldn’t help the way your hips lifted for him again.
“Good fucking girl,” he breathed, kissing the side of your face, still grinding into you—slower now, but deeper, cruel in how perfectly he hit that spot that made you cry out. “Still moving for me. You’re so damn pretty when you break.”
Your hands fumbled up his back, weak and twitching, fingers digging into his slick skin. “Seongje—s’too much—gonna—”
“One more,” he panted against your lips. “Just one more, baby. C’mon. Let me feel you fall apart one more time.”
And when he snaked a hand down between your bodies to rub your overstimulated clit—fast, precise, unforgiving—you screamed.
It hit hard, too hard—your thighs clamped around him, your body arching off the mattress like you’d been shocked, and your voice cracked into a sob as you came with a force that made everything go white.
Seongje cursed under his breath—“Fuck, fuck, that’s it—” and with one last, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you and came hard, groaning your name like it was the only thing keeping him together.
He stayed there for a moment—both of you breathless, tangled, and shaking—before he finally moved.
“Shit,” he murmured, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. His tone had changed now—lower, softer, laced with something achingly tender. “You okay, baby?”
You could barely nod, your voice gone, lips parted in a dazed smile.
Seongje pulled out slowly—whispering apologies as you whimpered at the sensitivity—and then reached down, gently wiping between your legs with the shirt he’d thrown off earlier. He kissed your thighs afterward like they were sacred, then crawled up beside you, arms wrapping around your spent body.
“Damn… look at you,” he whispered into your hair, pulling the blanket over both of you. “You’re everything”
His lips pressed against your forehead.
“I got you. Always.”
And he held you close, fingers tracing soft circles into your back as your heartbeat slowed, the world quieting into warmth and safety in his arms.
You didn’t know how long you lay there wrapped in him—your cheek pressed to his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, his fingers lazily combing through your hair. You’d melted into him completely, your body boneless and buzzing in the aftermath.
“You still breathing, princess?” Seongje murmured with a soft laugh, brushing a kiss to your temple.
You made a noise that was somewhere between a hum and a whimper.
“Didn’t mean to wreck you that bad,” he teased, shifting slightly so he could look down at you. “Actually… nah. I did. You looked so fucking good begging under me, baby.”
He grinned as you weakly smacked his chest, then caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Alright, alright. You earned it. Stay right here.”
Before you could argue, he was already sliding out of bed, grabbing a pair of joggers and padding out of the room—muttering something about "taking care of his girl."
Ten minutes later, he came back with a tray: cold water, your favorite snack, a warm damp towel, and the softest oversized hoodie he owned.
He placed the tray carefully beside you, then sat on the bed and opened his arms. “C’mere, baby.”
You let him pull you into his lap, hoodie first, then a kiss on your cheek, then he fed you a bite of the snack with a satisfied smile like he’d just scored a victory.
“You looked so pretty in my shirt earlier,” he said between sips of water he handed you. “But this look?” He ran a hand down your bare thigh, where it peeked out from under his hoodie. “Post-sex glow, legs shaking, wearing my clothes—fuck, I’m obsessed with you.”
You laughed tiredly, cheeks burning. “You’re ridiculous.”
Seongje grinned. “Only for you.”
He nuzzled into your neck, breathing you in, arms wrapped tight around you as he whispered, “No one else gets this. No one else gets you. I’m gonna take care of you so well, baby. Always.”
And he meant it.
Because to Seongje, spoiling you wasn’t just about snacks or kisses—it was about worshipping you in every way. Even if that meant holding you for hours, stroking your hair until you fell asleep against his chest, protected and loved, exactly where you belonged.
warning: threesome, blowjob (face fucking), spit kink, fingering, choking, light brat taming, anal sex, double penetration (p and a), creampie (don't be silly, wrap your willy!)
synopsis: You decided to ignore both of your friends, and mop around because of failed hook ups. Let's just say, neither Seongjae or Baekjin liked it.
A/N: this is just pure filth so if it's not your cup of tea, please do not proceed. if you happen to enjoy the fic, let me know what you think! 🤩
“Have you gone to fix it?”
“Nah,” Seongje inhales a lungful of the cigarette between his fingers. “I’m in front of her apartment building though.”
He can almost see Baekjin taking a pause and collecting himself. The latter had a lot of checklist for him today involving the Union, but here he is instead. Seongje couldn’t care less honestly, he’s not a damn errand boy.
“What are you doing there, Seongje? I told you to take care of the burner back accounts.”
“That can wait. She’s been ignoring us and ditching her classes, don’t act like you don’t want to see what she’s up to right now.”
“Mr. Choi will be calling soon.”
Seongje rolls his eyes and takes a jab at Baekjin being Mr. Choi’s lapdog, in which the other pays no mind. “Whatever, do what you want and miss all the fun.”
The call ends up abruptly, leaving Baekjin staring at the caller I.D. in disbelief. Seongje heads straight to your unit after throwing his stick on the ground, stomping on it once.
You’ve never given him nor Baekjin the password to your door but he trespasses anyways. For him, you’ve known them both long enough to be aware it is bound to happen.
The atmosphere in your apartment is akin to a museum: calm and comforting with a melodic music playing somewhere. He follows the sound, soon finding out it is coming from your bedroom.
Your blanket are tangled and bundled up in one area, while your feet peeks out by the hem. Seongje chuckles lightly at the sight.
“What got you all gloomy and sentimental?”
Leaning on your elbows, your eyes are wide enough to resemble an owl. “Seongje? What the hell are you doing here? How did you get inside?”
The man invites himself just like he did by the front door, and sits at the edge of your bed. Whether this is a consequence of having a literal criminal and a gang member as your friend or not, you don’t have an ounce of care.
“But I asked you a question first.”
You roll your eyes and slumps back in your bed.
Seongje pins you with a stern stare. “Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me.” He moves to your side and rests his back against the headboard. “Why haven’t you been at the bowling alley these days? Baekjin is losing his mind.”
“If he truly is, then he should be here.”
That ignites a laugh from him, shaking his head. They must’ve spoiled you too much that you’re now acting like a brat, sulking when you don’t get their attention the second you want it.
Huffing, you turn your back to Seongje. He observes the way your lips jut out in a pout and how you tried hard to divert your attention to your phone once more.
A notification pops up at the top part of your screen.
Sugang: Do you want to come over again?
The gadget is gone in your grip the next time you blink. Looking at Seongje, you see the evident change in his eyes. His thumb scrolls through your conversation, scanning fast enough that you wonder if he’s actually reading them.
“Okay, what the hell– give it back!”
“Who’s Sugang and why is he telling you to come over at his place?”
“None of your business, really.”
Glancing at the phone, he pulls you and settles you in his lap while he holds your wrist in front of him— basically forcing you to show what he wants to see.
The corner of his lips curls up in a snicker, one that you know follows a mean comment about your hook-ups and dates.
“A dick appointment, huh?” Seongje tsks. “How many dates have you gone with him? Did he even managed, at least, one orgasm out of you?”
Slapping his arm, you tell him off with his language. The dread then comes back to you, and prompts you in snuggling closer to Seongje’s chest, laying your head on his shoulder as you get a whiff of his scent.
“... no.”
His chest rumbles as he oddly finds your miserable life funny.
“So you’re telling me,” He tosses your phone somewhere on the bed. “This Sugang guy have stuck his dick inside you multiple times, never made you cum, and still had the audacity to invite you over again?”
You could only hide your face in his neck. There’s nothing else to do except to drown in embarrassment, especially with the help of Seongjae’s condescending tone and mocking chuckle.
“First was Park Yeongbeom leaving you in radio silence after telling you that his phone was broken, but switched up and it was suddenly because he forgot to charge it. Then Kim Palho stood you up just because his mama threw a tantrum about he shouldn’t find a girl and leave his mom alone. Hong Sijun doesn’t even know how to fucking mop the spilled juice on your floor, and Baek Sanghyun who played hard to get, making you set up several hangouts before eventually telling you he doesn’t fancy you.”
Seongje takes a deep breath, and lets out a scoff. “Wow, where are you getting these fucking manchilds?”
As Seongje recites all the men that had failed you for these past few months, the anger and irritation boils hot inside you. Throwing yourself on the bed once more, you muffle your screams using the soft pillows. All the while Seongje’s eyes follow your movements.
Drawing closer, he pries your hand away from your face and turns you to look at him straight. His eyes rakes over the messy strands of your hair before he brushes them away.
He sighs. “So this is why you’re misbehaving.”
A thumb traces the plush of your lips, putting slight pressure on your chin to open your mouth before sliding inside, meeting your tongue. Seongje hums in approval then presses kisses on your jawline.
“Suck,”
As though enchanted, your lips circles around his finger and does what he says. All the pent up frustrations caused by other men slowly fades as Seongje stabilize you in the only way he can.
“That’s right. You’re still my sweet girl, aren’t you? Just needed a reminder.”
Seongje noses your throat while his other hand caresses your waist, uncharacteristically gentle. His patience cuts off short so he moves on to tug your shirt away and finally kisses you properly.
You whine against his mouth as you circle your arm around his neck. His tongue licks into your mouth, engaging yours to his before taking it to suck on. Seongje is in the process of removing your shorts and panties when suddenly, the bedroom opens– revealing Baekjin with his hands in his pockets.
Seongje whistles. “Looks like you don’t need to go back to those manchilds anymore. You’ve got more than one cock to keep you occupied and satisfied.”
You are coaxed to stand before your bed as both men assumes their position.
Baekjin’s in front of you, surprisingly not donning his jacket anymore, while Seongje presses up against your back, his growing hardness poking the cheeks of your ass.
After you’re all bare between them, Baekjin grabs your jaw and draws you in for a kiss. It’s not messy and full of spit like Seongje’s, rather it’s steady and establishing, like he’s asserting his dominance over you.
Two sets of hands wanders around your body. You think you might go crazy as your sensory fills up; someone fondles your breasts and plays with its hard buds, one hand cups your pussy and slips in to gather your wetness, while one other holds the back of your head firmly as if keeping you from pulling away.
A yelp elicits from you when Seongje unexpectedly turns you around. He slots his mouth on yours like he’s been deprived this whole time. His kisses starts a hunger in you and it will most likely won’t be satisfied easily.
Someone bends you over, and you know it’s not Seongje given by the smoothness and nonexistent callouses on the skin. Soon enough, Baekjin enters a finger inside you without a signal, causing you to jerk forward and comes in contact with Seongje’s cock.
When did they start stripping?
He takes a handful of your hair in his grip. Following his lead, you proceed to lick his shaft up and down to wet it. No way you’re putting that in your throat all dry.
And as one predicts, impatience– for Geum Seongje– is a loyal friend. Done with your stalling, Seongje yanks your hair and forces two fingers in your mouth, triggering your gag reflex as it naturally clamps on him and produces an ample amount of saliva.
“There you go,” He snickers and spreads it along his cock.
Inserting another one, Baekjin seems unpleased with your lack of focus on him. He kneels behind you and crooks his fingers that sends you jolting again.
“Baekjin..”
Satisfaction fills him up due to your breathy moan. Though it did not last long as Seongje feeds you his cock, holding your head in place while he controls the pace. You could only close your eyes and pray he have mercy on you.
On the other hand, Baekjin lets his mouth take over and enjoys your taste on his tongue. Your hans flies to grip on whoever’s arm is near, hips grinding on Baekjin’s face.
You stay like that for a while. And when your legs start buckling, Baekjin carries you to the bed.
“Hands and knees, baby.”
Disregarding Seongje’s scoff, you obey Baekjin’s order before looking forward and sees the former sprawling on the pillows. Seongje tilts his head, gesturing you to hover above him.
You’re ushered until he’s face to face with your breasts. As he feasts on the soft fat on your chest, a hand taps your thigh.
“You know the traffic light system?”
“Yes,”
“Good. Tap the bed three times if you can’t speak.”
Baekjin fucks you open using a few more times, and a moment later, a blunt tip obviously much larger the three of his fingers pushes inside.
“Uhh..”
Hearing your mewl, Seongje sees you with your mouth agape then scoots backwards, towards the headboard. “I wanna eat you out so fucking bad but I’ll leave it for another day.”
Another day? Heavens, you might have to charge your energy for another threesome with them.
Your head lols, moans getting louder each thrust of Baekjin’s cock. He plants one of his feet on the bed, changing the angle, and smirks when your back arches and your arms visibly shakes. Swift slaps land on your ass.
“So tight, fuck–”
“Hey, can’t leave me hanging now, doll.”
Seongje cuts off and holds your chin. Getting tired of him bossing you around, you roll your eyes and reaches to wrap a hand around his length when his grip suddenly transfers to your cheeks.
“I told you not to fucking roll your eyes at me,” He forcefully opens your mouth, sliding in your throat harshly. He fucks your face like Baekjin does with your pussy.
“Hmmph–!”
You scramble to search for something to cling to, your poor bedsheets taking the result of the overwhelming pleasure across your body.
“See, Baekjin? You shouldn’t spoil such bad girls like her. Look at that attitude.”
“Aah– You’re being too harsh on her, that’s why.”
“Bullshit! This brat needs to learn her manners– holy shit..”
“She knows,” Baekjin kisses along your spine, arriving at your shoulder as he murmurs against your ears. “What do we say, baby?”
Somehow wanting to hear and see what will be your response, Seongje pulls out and jerks himself.
“Nngh.. ‘m– ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry. I’m– oh my god– I won’t do it again.”
“Unfuckingbelievable.”
He urge you to take his cock back in and resumes his face fucking.
You’re so adorable with tears running down on your cheeks while your hands is attempting to slow Baekjin down. He supposes it’s only appropriate that they're providing you this much. After all, they need to satisfy your months and months of sexual frustration.
Then an idea pops in his head. His smirk blooms. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll let me fuck you.”
Baekjin perks up, squinting his eyes at the other in warning. “Wait for your fucking turn, Geum Seongje.”
“Who says anything about taking turns?”
Sinking his words in, Baekjin’s thrusts falter slightly.
You, however, being too cock-drunk and unable to talk, fails to register what the two men are discussing about. Imagine the surprise and confusion in your face when all the stimulations comes to a sudden stop.
“W-what? Did I do something wrong.. ?”
Baekjin notes you look like a deer caught in headlights. He tucks your hair behind your ears and pecks your cheek.
“What do you say about taking both of us?”
“Both of you– how?”
“At the same time. We’ll take it slow.”
“What if..” You trail, fiddling at the sheets. “What if I don’t like it?”
Seongje grins. “You will.”
In a matter of seconds, Baekjin and Seongje switches places. You’re now pinning the former against the bed with your whole weight, while the latter strokes himself behind you.
Smoothly, Baekjin’s cock slides again, emitting a whiny moan from you. He moves you on top of him, clasping his hands to your waist as he eases his size. Your body shudders when you feel something cold touches your asshole, followed by someone thumbing it.
And then it clicks.
You clutch at Baekjin’s arm tightly as one digit begins to push it’s way inside your ass. It massages your hole, making sure you’re relaxing and opening up before pushing another one, then another more.
Three fingers produces squelching noises as they curl upwards and scissors. It echoes lewdly that you make out with Baekjin so you’d think your tongues are the source of it instead.
Slowing down his pace, Baekjin kisses you back feverishly— you should’ve known it was to distract you from Seongjae’s length.
“Fuck–!”
Your body immediately tenses and both men stops their motions, observing you. He’s barely even past the tip.
“Hurts?”
“A bit, yeah..” Your fist clenches and unclenches beside Baekjin’s head.
“Do you want to stop?”
You shake your head, shallowly breathing in and out. Seongje reaches out for the lube again and squirts some more on where you’re connected. Then, he slowly resumes pushing in the rest of his cock.
"Wait, oh god..."
Eyes shutting tight, your nails dig in the skin of his wrist but Seongje refuses to let go of your hips. Baekjin scratches your head gently, anything to cut your attention in half, away from the burn.
Soon, the pain gradually becomes pleasure. You angle your head and meets Baekjin’s mouth, letting him swallow your moans. “Uh uh uh– yes! Yes, fuck. So good–”
Seongje throws his head back, though quickly staring back at your hole again because it’s just a mesmerizing sight. How your tight ass grips onto his cock hungrily. Fuck, he might come at the thought of being the first one to stick his cock in it.
He slaps your cheek, watching as it reddens. Baekjin’s pace fastens as he takes in the way your face contorts, unable to mask the overwhelming pleasure.
“You think those men can make you feel this good, baby?” He tsks. “You could’ve gone to us, to me, and save your self the hassle. Those men don’t deserve you. You’re mine.”
"She's ours, Baekjin. Learn how to fucking share."
Whimpering, a drool slips past your lips in which Baekjin wipes off and licks. Even with his thumb muffling your noises, it still rings across the whole bedroom due to how hard Seongje is fucking in to you.
A violent jab at your sweet spot snatches the breath away from your lungs as your eyes rolls to the back your head.
“So fucking pretty,” Baekjin rumbles.
A hand yanks your hair and you’re forced to meet Seongje’s eyes in a dizzy haze. “What do we say?”
It costs you almost a minute before conjuring an answer. Fortunately, they pay it no mind because of how sweet your words sound.
“Thank you– oh oh hnngh.. thankyouthankyouthankyou. Feels so good!”
Seongje laughs, pulling you close to his chest and spits in your mouth. Gulping it down, you stuck your tongue out to show him, earning approval as he licks your cheek and pushes you down on Baekjin again.
“Good girl.”
A hand wraps around your throat, squeezing enough to put your mind in a pleasurable haze. “You like that? You like it when he calls you a good girl? Are you gonna be good for us after this?”
“Y– yheees. ‘m good, I’ll be good– please.”
As Baekjin continuously targets your g-spot, your scream pierces through their ears as you starts to thrash between them. With a few more thrusts, you’re clenching down on their cocks uncontrollably.
The two men shares a grunt at your tightness as they eagerly follows their own climax, each losing their own rhythm resulting in a messy and uncoordinated movements.
Before long, Seongje pulls out and strokes his cock over your ass, letting out a loud moan as he paints your back with his sticky cum. While Baekjin takes the reigns on your hips, fucking upwards, uncaring about the obscene skin slapping that probably reaches your next neighbor.
“Inside?”
Not affording to speak anymore, you opt in kissing him deeply in hopes to convey your answer. Baekjin grunts in return and buries his cock deep inside you, his cum shooting to your walls until some spills out of your hole. He fucks a couple more times and finally calms down when the cum starts foaming up around his cock.
When he finally withdraws as well, all three of you are breathing heavily. You slump on Baekjin, no longer has energy to do anything else. Seongje leaves the room and comes back with a clean towel to wipe you down, throwing said towel somewhere in the room after doing so.
Gently, Baekjin ushers you to the side. Seongje, soon, lays down on your other side.
“Don’t ever contact those men again, or I’ll have the Union deal with them. Alright?”
Giggling, you nod your head before placing a sweet kiss on his lips, giving the same to Seongjae.
“Okay,” You tug them closer. “Can you buy me strawberries though? I’m kinda craving them. And chocolates!”
“We’ll buy you some later, after you eat your lunch.”
“But I want to have it now. Wait– how’d you know I haven’t eaten?”
And as if you didn’t act like they didn’t exist from the past whole week, you’re back to being their spoiled bratty princess again.
summary: you’ve been running empty for days, just the hollow motions of existing. when seongje finds you at a convenience store at 3 AM, barely recognizable without your usual armor of makeup and carefully maintained appearance, he doesn’t ask if you’re okay. he already knows you’re not.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of depression/lack of energy/lack of appetite/dissociation, seongje helps you shower, nonsexual nudity, seongje typical smoking, cuddling, hwangmo shows up for like one paragraph, reader is mentioned to typically wear makeup
based off this request. role reversal version here.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
The fluorescent lights hum overhead with that specific frequency that makes your skull ache if you pay attention to it. You have not been paying attention to much lately. The past few days have passed in a blur of disconnected moments that your brain stopped trying to organize into linear time.
Your hand hovers over the shelf of instant noodles. Shin Ramen sits in its red package. The package in front of you blurs slightly. You blink. It stays blurred.
The question of when you last ate surfaces without urgency. Yesterday feels like a possibility. The day before seems equally likely. There was toast at some point.
You put the noodles in your basket without remembering the decision to reach for them. They join the other items you have collected. Energy drinks you will not open sit next to bandaids for cuts you do not have. A bag of cheap sugar cookies that taste like cardboard rounds out the selection. The basket weighs almost nothing in your hand. Everything weighs almost nothing these days.
The glass door of the refrigerated section reflects someone you don't quite recognize. Your hair is pulled back in a knot that was never meant to last four days. No makeup covers the greyish tint your skin has taken under these lights. You're wearing one of Seongje's hoodies. The sleeves hang too long and there is a stain on the cuff that might be coffee. The fabric smells like him and cigarette smoke.
He’s never seen you like this.
The thought arrives with unusual clarity, cutting through the static that has replaced most of your thoughts. In the eight months you have been together, he has never seen you barefaced. The version of yourself he knows is maintained and deliberate.
The version currently buying random shit at three in the morning looks like she has been underwater for a week.
You move toward the register on autopilot, body carrying you there without conscious input. The cashier is some college student doing overnight shifts. He glances at your basket and then at your face. Something flickers in his expression that looks like concern.
"You okay?" he asks.
The question takes too long to process. You blink at him and form the word in your mouth before speaking. "Fine."
He does not look convinced but he's not paid enough to push. The scanner beeps as he runs your items across it. Each beep sounds too loud in your skull. Everything is too loud or too quiet lately.
His voice carries from the next aisle over.
Seongje says something you do not catch. Then laughter follows. Hwangmo is probably with him. The sound makes your stomach drop in a way that almost registers as emotion. That makes it the strongest thing you have felt in seventy-two hours.
Your hand tightens on the basket handle. The cashier continues scanning. The energy drinks beep. The cookies beep. Your brain screams at your body to move faster but everything moves through honey.
"That'll be-"
You shove money at him before he finishes, not bothering to wait for change. The plastic bag crinkles as you grab it and turn toward the door. If you can just get outside before he rounds the corner then maybe he won’t see that the girl in his hoodie with greasy hair is supposed to be his girlfriend.
"Yo, isn't that your girl?" Hwangmo's voice carries that specific amusement that means he is about to say something stupid. Every muscle in your body locks. Your back is to them but you can feel the weight of attention shifting in your direction.
"Where?" Seongje sounds closer than you expected.
"Right there. Chick at the register."
You keep walking. The automatic doors are right there. Five more steps separate you from escape.
"Wait."
Four steps remain.
"You guys have the wrong person." Your voice comes out flat and empty. The doors slide open. You are almost through when footsteps sound behind you.
"Turn around."
The words are not a request.
You stop in the doorway. Night air hits your face with sharp cold. The plastic bag cuts into your palm. Behind you Hwangmo is probably grinning. The fluorescent lights are bright enough to see through your closed eyelids.
"I said turn around."
You do.
His eyes land on you and something in his expression shifts. His gaze moves over your face and catalogs the absence of makeup. The circles under your eyes look dark enough to be bruises.
Hwangmo says something. You don’t hear it. Seongje isn’t looking at him.
"When did you eat last?" The question comes out quiet and matter-of-fact. He could be asking what time it is.
You open your mouth and then close it. The answer requires accessing information you do not have. "Today."
"Bullshit." He steps closer. Cigarette smoke clings to his jacket. "When?”
"I don't know."
"You don't know." He moves close enough that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "You don't know when you ate."
"I've been busy."
His eyes drop to the plastic bag in your hand. Energy drinks and cookies, things that are not food in any real sense, look back at him. When he looks at your face again, something cold and controlled has settled into his expression.
"How long has it been since you slept?"
"I sleep."
"How long?”
Your brain tries to count backwards. It gets lost somewhere around yesterday afternoon. The timeline refuses to organize itself. "I don't know. A few hours here and there."
He reaches out and touches your face. His thumb presses gently under your eye where the skin is darkest. You flinch from the shock of being touched after days in a body that stopped feeling like yours. "You look like shit."
"Thanks." The word has no bite to it. It just falls out of your mouth and lands between you.
Hwangmo still stands nearby. Seongje does not glance at him. His attention stays fixed on you with that careful intensity that makes you feel pinned in place.
"You're coming with me."
"I have to go home."
"No, you don't."
"I have-"
"Whatever you have can wait." His hand drops from your face to your wrist. The grip is firm but not painful. "You're coming with me."
You should argue. You should pull away and insist you are fine. You should go back to your apartment and continue the very productive spiral you have been in. The thought of doing any of that requires energy you stopped having days ago.
"Okay," you hear yourself say.
His expression doesn’t change but something in his posture relaxes slightly. He takes the plastic bag from your hand and turns to Hwangmo.
"Go home."
"But-"
"Go. Home."
Hwangmo must see something in his face that makes arguing a bad idea. He shrugs and wanders toward the back of the store. Seongje's hand is still around your wrist. The warmth and solidity of it registers as the first real thing you have felt in days.
"Can you walk or do I need to carry you?"
The question should be humiliating. Instead it just sounds like an assessment of your current functionality.
"I can walk."
"Then walk."
He doesn’t let go of your wrist. He pulls you gently toward the door and out into night air so cold it almost feels like sensation returning to your skin. You follow because the alternative is standing in a convenience store trying to remember what functional human behavior looks like.
His apartment is six blocks away. You have walked this route before as the version of yourself that wore lipstick and laughed at his dark jokes. That version seems very far away now, unreachable.
"You've been avoiding me," he says after the first block.
You stay quiet.
"Three days. No texts. Calls going to voicemail." His voice stays even without accusation. "I thought you were pissed about something."
"Not pissed."
"Then what?"
You don’t have an answer that makes sense. How do you explain the emptiness? How do you describe going through the motions of being alive without any of the actual living parts working? You have been wearing his hoodie for four days straight because it was the only thing that felt like it belonged to something real.
"I don't know," you say finally.
He makes a sound that might be acknowledgment. He does not push for more. He just keeps walking with your wrist held loosely in his hand, like he’s afraid you will disappear if he lets go.
Maybe you would.
His apartment looks the same as it always does. A couch sits against one wall while a low table holds an ashtray and his phone charger. There are no decorations or photos. The functional space could belong to anyone.
A hand on your shoulder guides you to the couch. The pressure feels gentle but firm enough that your body follows without question. You sink into the cushions and watch him move toward the small kitchen area.
"Stay there," he says.
The couch has become the most comfortable place you have sat in days. Your body settles into it like it might never get up again. Going anywhere was not part of your plans anyway.
Water hits metal too loudly in the quiet apartment as he fills a pot from the sink. The pot goes onto the stove and he turns the burner on. Blue flames lick up the sides. A cabinet opens and he pulls out two packets of instant ramen. The cheap kind costs less than a dollar and tastes like salt and MSG.
His movements are efficient and practiced as you watch with detached interest. This is clearly not the first time he has made food at three in the morning. The water begins to boil. Torn packets release noodles into the pot. Seasoning follows. Steam rises and fills the small space with the smell of artificial beef flavor.
A bowl appears in front of you on the low table three minutes later. Noodles sit in their broth and release heat into the air. Chopsticks rest across the top of the bowl.
"Eat," he says.
Your stomach turns at the thought of eating in a way that has nothing to do with nausea. Food has become an abstract concept over the past few days. Your body stopped asking for it.
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care. Eat anyway."
The chopsticks feel heavy in your hand as you pick them up because arguing seems harder. Some noodles lift from the bowl and broth drips back down. Steam hits your face. The chopsticks lower without any food reaching your mouth.
"What's the problem?" he asks.
"I'm just not hungry right now."
"You haven't eaten in days. You're hungry."
"I don't feel hungry."
A long moment passes while he stares at you. Processing this information seems to lead him toward finding it unacceptable. His jaw tightens slightly. Frustration rather than anger shows in the gesture. "Why?”
The chopsticks go back across the bowl as you set them down. Noodles sink back into the broth. Your brain searches for an explanation that will make sense.
"I usually shower before I eat dinner," you say. "So I'm not hungry right now."
The logic sounds reasonable in your head. Out loud it sounds less convincing. His expression suggests you have just said something in a language he does not speak.
"You're not hungry because you haven't showered," he repeats slowly.
"I always shower before dinner. It's just a thing."
He stands up from where he has been leaning against the arm of the couch. The new information gets processed. Some conclusion forms that you cannot see.
"Okay," he says. "Then go shower."
"I don't have any clean clothes here."
"I have clothes. Go shower."
Standing up and walking to the bathroom seems like the logical next step. Your body refuses to respond to these commands. The couch cushions might as well have grown roots into your spine.
Ten seconds pass before he reaches down and takes your hand. Steady pressure pulls you up until you are standing. Your legs remember how to hold your weight but only barely.
"Come on," he says.
His hand stays wrapped around yours as he walks toward the bathroom. Following requires less energy than resisting. Water turns on as he reaches into the shower. Steam begins to fill the space.
Temperature adjustment happens while you stand in the doorway and watch. The sound of water hitting tile almost drowns out the ringing in your ears that has been there for days.
Turning back to you, he reaches for the hem of his hoodie that you are wearing. You take a step backward and create distance. His hands stop.
"What are you doing?" you ask, suddenly shy.
"Helping you shower."
"I can shower by myself."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
That same careful assessment from earlier returns to his expression. Showering alone probably exceeds your current capabilities. Standing without swaying takes most of your energy. Coordinating the complex series of actions required to wash your hair feels impossible.
"I'm coming in with you," he says.
"What? No. I can do it myself."
"You've been wearing the same clothes for four days. You can't remember the last time you ate. You look like you're about to pass out. I'm not letting you get in the shower alone."
"That's weird."
"I don't care."
A staring contest begins. Steam continues filling the bathroom. Exhaustion has soaked so deep into your bones that arguing feels like climbing a mountain.
"I've never showered with someone before," you say finally.
"There's a first time for everything."
"This is weird."
"You already said that."
"Because it is."
"Are you getting undressed or am I doing it for you?"
Your gaze drops to the hoodie and sweatpants you cannot remember putting on. His hands move to the hem of the hoodie.
The fabric catches on your hair tie and pulls it loose. Greasy strands fall around your shoulders. The hoodie drops to the floor. Sweatpants follow. Underwear joins the pile. Once you’re completely naked, you feel no embarrassment or self-consciousness like you thought you would. His shirt comes off next, followed by his jeans. Looking at your body does not seem to interest him particularly. Nothing sexual lives in this moment.
You step into the stall first. Hot water hits your skin and the sensation shocks your system. Heat seeps into your muscles and reminds them that relaxation used to be possible.
He steps in behind you. The shower stall allows maybe six inches of space between your back and his chest. Water hits both of you. Standing under the spray lets you watch it run down the drain.
"Tilt your head back," he says.
Compliance comes easily. Water hits your hair and soaks through to your scalp. His hands follow and work through the tangled mess with unexpected gentleness. A bottle opens somewhere behind you. Then his fingers return with shampoo that smells like mint.
Slow circular motions scrub your scalp. The pressure feels good without hurting. Your eyes close. Water runs down your face. Days of grease and grime get worked through by his fingers. Rinsing removes the shampoo and the bottle opens again. The conditioner works through the ends of your hair where tangles are worst.
"You smell like cigarettes," you say. Your voice sounds strange in the small space.
"I was smoking earlier."
"You're always smoking."
"Yeah."
The conditioner rinses clean. His hands on your shoulders turn you around until you face him. Water runs between your bodies. Wet hair pushes back from his forehead. A washcloth hangs from a hook and he reaches for it. Body wash pours onto the fabric. He begins washing your arms with the same methodical attention he gave your hair.
"This is really weird," you say.
"You already said that twice."
"I'm saying it again."
Your shoulders receive attention next. Then your back and stomach. The washcloth scrubs away layers of sweat and stale air that have been clinging to your skin. Standing still and letting him work seems like the only option. Your brain has stopped trying to process what is happening. Making sense of anything no longer seems possible so passive observation takes over.
Legs get washed. Then feet. Every part of you receives the same careful attention. When he finishes, the washcloth gets handed to you.
"Your turn," he says.
The washcloth gets handed to you and you take it with hands that barely remember how to grip properly. Body wash pours onto the fabric in an amount that is probably too much. Your hands move to his chest and start scrubbing with all the coordination of someone who has forgotten how arms work.
The washcloth slides across his skin in uneven strokes that miss spots and repeat the same areas. You go over his left shoulder three times while barely touching his right. Your movements lack any kind of rhythm or purpose. This is not helping him get clean and both of you know it.
He stands completely still anyway and lets you work with clumsy hands and unfocused attention. No corrections come from him. He doesn’t guide your wrists to the areas you are missing. Your hand drags the washcloth down his arm and then back up. The water has started to run cool but he does not rush you or take over. He waits.
Eventually your hands slow and then stop moving entirely. The washcloth hangs limply in your grip while you stare at his chest like you have lost track of what you are supposed to be doing.
"Done?" he asks quietly.
The question takes a moment to process before you can answer. "Yeah."
The washcloth drops from your hand and hits the shower floor with a wet slap. He reaches past you and turns the water off in one smooth motion. Sudden silence fills the small space and makes every other sound seem amplified.
"Feel better?" he asks.
"A little," you say.
"Good. Now you can eat." He steps out of the shower first and grabs a towel from the rack. The fabric wraps around his waist with practiced efficiency. Another towel gets pulled down and held open in both hands. You step out on unsteady feet and he wraps the fabric around you immediately. His hands tuck it in above your chest with quick movements. The towel feels rough and clean against your skin while holding more warmth than you expected.
He leaves you standing there wrapped in his towel. Movement sounds from the other room as drawers open and close. He comes back with a t-shirt that will be too big on you and sweatpants with a drawstring waist.
"Get dressed," he says. "Then we're eating."
The clothes get pulled on with movements that feel disconnected from your brain. The t-shirt hangs off your shoulders and reaches mid-thigh. Sweatpants bunch around your ankles even with the drawstring pulled tight. You shuffle back to the couch where the bowl of ramen still sits on the low table. Steam no longer rises from it. The broth has probably gone lukewarm.
Sitting down takes more effort than it should. Your body folds onto the cushions and you reach for the chopsticks. They still feel heavy. Everything feels heavy.
Seongje settles into the spot next to you with his own bowl. Noodles disappear into his mouth at a steady pace. A small amount lifts to your lips and you chew slowly. The taste registers as salt and something vaguely meat-flavored. Swallowing requires conscious effort.
Another bite follows. Then another. Each one takes time to get from bowl to mouth to stomach. Your jaw moves like it has forgotten the mechanics of chewing. The noodles are soft enough that this does not matter much.
He finishes his bowl in the time it takes you to eat maybe a quarter of yours. The empty dish gets set on the table with a quiet click. Settling back against the couch cushions, he reaches into his pocket. A cigarette pack emerges. The familiar sound of the flame catching fills the quiet.
Smoke curls up toward the ceiling as he takes a drag. The smell of tobacco mixes with the lingering scent of artificial beef broth.
Your hand reaches out without thinking about it. The gesture asks for what your mouth does not bother saying.
He looks at your outstretched hand and then at your face. The cigarette stays between his fingers.
"No," he says.
"Why not?" Your hand stays extended in the space between you.
"Because I said no."
"You're literally smoking right next to me." The smoke still hanging in the air gets a vague gesture from you.
"That's different."
Your hand drops back to your lap with more force than necessary. The chopsticks pick up more noodles but your movements have lost what little coordination they had. "How is that different?"
"You breathing in my secondhand smoke and you smoking directly are not the same thing." He takes another drag and this time turns his head to blow it away from you.
"The distinction seems pretty arbitrary."
"It's not arbitrary."
Another bite goes into your mouth while you stare at the remaining noodles in your bowl. "You smoke around me all the time. What difference does it make if I'm the one holding it?"
"The difference is you're already self-destructive enough without adding nicotine to the list." His voice stays matter-of-fact while the cigarette dangles from his fingers. "This is the last thing you need."
"That's hypocritical." The words come out without heat.
"I don't care."
"You're sitting here smoking while telling me I can't smoke." Another bite lifts to your mouth and the chopsticks shake slightly in your grip.
"Yeah." He takes another drag and blows the smoke away from your face. "I am."
The energy required to argue about this does not exist in your body. Your brain tries to form a rebuttal and gives up halfway through. Whatever. The fight is not worth having. Going back to eating your noodles in mechanical silence seems easier.
Silence settles between you like a physical presence. His cigarette burns down slowly and leaves a trail of ash that he taps into the ashtray. Eating at your glacial pace continues. The bowl is maybe half empty now. Progress exists even if it feels minimal.
He reaches over and taps ash into the ashtray on the table. The movement is practiced and automatic. Smoke continues to curl upward while you continue to chew with your eyes half-closed from exhaustion.
"When did it start?" he says after a while.
The question is vague enough that clarification seems necessary. "When did what start?"
"This." He gestures vaguely at you with the hand holding the cigarette. Smoke trails from the lit end. "The not eating and sleeping. All of it."
Your chopsticks pause halfway to your mouth and hover there while you think, trying to pinpoint when things started going wrong feels impossible. There was no clear beginning, just a gradual slide from functional to whatever this current state is.
"I don't know," you say finally. "A week ago maybe. Could be longer."
"What happened?" He stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray and immediately reaches for another one.
"Nothing happened."
"Something always happens." The lighter flicks and catches. New smoke joins the old.
"Not this time. I just got tired."
"Of what?"
"Everything." The word comes out flat and empty as you set the chopsticks down across your bowl. "All of it, the constant effort of being a person."
He does not respond right away. His eyes stay on you with that careful attention he gives to things he is trying to understand. The weight of his gaze feels heavy enough to press you further into the cushions.
"You should have called me," he says finally.
"I didn't know what to say." Your hands fold in your lap while your thumbs press against each other.
"You don't need to say anything. You just needed to call."
"I'm done," you say, not sure if you were referring to the noodles, or to the weight of everything on your shoulders.
"You barely ate half." He looks at the bowl and then back at your face.
"It's more than I've eaten in three days."
"Fine. That's enough for now."
Standing up requires pushing yourself off the couch with both hands. Your legs remember how to support your weight but protest the effort with a slight tremor. The bowl gets picked up as you turn toward the kitchen area.
"I'll wash this and then head out," you say.
"Why would you head out?" The question comes immediately.
"Because I should go home." Your feet are unsteady as you take a step towards the kitchen.
"Why?"
The question stops you mid-step. Going home means going back to your apartment, the unwashed dishes and the pile of laundry. It means going back to the space where the spiral started.
"I just should," you say without turning around.
"That's not a reason." His voice comes from behind you on the couch.
"I can't just stay here." The bowl trembles slightly in your grip.
"Why not?" The leather creaks as he shifts on the couch.
"Because I have things to do." Your knuckles are white where they grip the bowl.
"What things?" His voice stays level but something in it suggests he already knows you are lying. "What do you have to do at four in the morning?"
"I don't want to be a burden," you say. The words come out barely above a whisper.
"You're not." The couch creaks again and footsteps sound behind you.
"I'm literally falling apart in your apartment. That seems like a burden."
"I don't care. You're staying here."
"You can't just decide that,” You argue as you finally turn around to face him.
"I just did." He stands now and looks at you with that immovable expression.
"That's not how this works." Your voice lacks conviction.
"You can barely stand up without swaying. You're not going anywhere."
“I don’t have my stuff,” you say weakly.
“You don’t need stuff. You need sleep.”
“I can sleep at home.”
“No you can’t.” The certainty in his voice allows no room for argument. “You’ll go back to your place and stare at the ceiling for six hours and then come back here looking worse than you do now.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do.”
He is probably right. Going home means another day of going through motions without any actual living happening.
Your mouth opens to protest again but nothing comes out. The exhaustion has finally won. Fighting takes energy you stopped having days ago.
“Fine,” you say. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Get in the bed or I’m carrying you there.” The bowl gets taken from your hands before you can respond. Water runs in the kitchen as he rinses it. Dishes clink together.
He comes back and finds you still standing in the same spot. His hand wraps around your wrist.
“Come on,” he says, leading you to the bedroom.
You climb onto his bed without waiting for further instruction. The mattress gives under your weight.Muscles you did not know were tense begin to release. The pillow smells like him.
He moves around the room for a moment. A drawer opens and closes. The lamp on the nightstand gets turned on and casts warm light across the space. Then the overhead light goes off and the room becomes softer.
"Move over," he says.
You shift toward the wall and your body protests the movement. The mattress dips significantly as he climbs in next to you. His weight settles and changes the entire landscape of the bed. The blanket gets pulled up higher over both of you. An arm drapes over your waist with familiar weight. Warmth radiates from his body into yours and seeps through the borrowed t-shirt you are wearing.
“If you kick me I’m going to the couch,” you mumble into the pillow.
“I’m not going to kick you.”
"You say that now." Your words slur slightly with exhaustion.
“Go to sleep.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly. The words barely make it past your lips. “For not letting me leave.”
His arm tightens around your waist slightly. “You’re not going anywhere. Not anymore.”
Sleep pulls at the edges of your consciousness. For the first time in days it feels possible rather than theoretical. Your body starts to let go.
“Don’t disappear again,” he says against your hair. His breath is warm on the back of your neck.
You manage a sound that might be agreement. Your brain has stopped forming coherent words. His warmth and the weight of his arm and the smell of cigarette smoke all blend together into something that feels almost like peace.
The static that has been filling your head for days finally quiets to nothing. Sleep takes you under like water closing over your head, but this time it feels like relief instead of drowning.
