COFFE SHOP;kgw
Kim Gunwoo x reader
Warnings: explicit content, cursing, unprotected sex.
Note: This is my first shot of a BLOODHOUNDS character, I finished watching it yesterday and it was quite good that I couldn't resist doing a gunwoo one.
The coffee shop lights are already dimmed when you hear the door chime one last time. You’re behind the delivery bar, wiping down the espresso machine for the final round of closing duties. The place smells like fresh-ground coffee and warm pastries that have been sitting under the heat lamps too long. Gunwoo’s mother usually handles the money drop-off herself, but she had to leave early tonight for something. She left you in charge of locking up.
You glance up as he steps inside. Gunwoo. Tall, broad-shouldered, still wearing that black hoodie with the faint smell of sweat. His knuckles are wrapped in white tape, a few spots already turning red. His hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, and there’s a fresh bruise blooming along his jaw. But his eyes, those dark, steady eyes, light up a little when they land on you.
He walks straight to the counter, pulling a thick envelope from his pocket. “Mom’s share from the fight tonight,” he says, voice low and a bit rough, like he’s been shouting or taking hits to the ribs. “She wasn’t here, so…”
You take the envelope, fingers brushing his. His skin is warm, almost hot. “She mentioned you might stop by. Congrats on the win, I guess.”
He gives a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile but is too tired for it. The shop is empty now. Chairs are up on tables. The sign on the door says Closed. You’re both alone under the soft glow of the remaining overhead lights.
Gunwoo doesn’t leave. He leans on the delivery bar, watching you finish wiping the counter. “You closing alone?”
“Yeah. Last bit of cleaning and then I’m out.” You rinse the cloth in the small sink, feeling his gaze on your back. There’s always been this tension between you two, quiet glances when he comes to drop money, the way he lingers a second longer than necessary. Tonight it feels thicker, heavier, like the adrenaline from his fight hasn’t worn off yet.
He shifts, coming around the side of the bar instead of staying on the customer side. The space back here is narrow. Your hip bumps the edge of the counter as he stops close. Too close. You can see the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hoodie clings to his shoulders.
“You look tired,” you say, trying to keep it light.
“I won,” he answers simply. Then his hand comes up, calloused fingers brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “But I kept thinking about coming here after.”
Your breath catches. The air between you crackles. Before you can say anything else, he leans in and kisses you. It’s not soft. It’s hard, urgent, like all that pent-up energy from the ring is pouring out now.
His lips press firm against yours, moving with a hunger that makes your knees feel weak. You taste salt on him, sweat, maybe a little blood from a split lip.
“Ah—” you gasp into his mouth as his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. He’s solid, all muscle and heat. Your back hits the delivery bar counter, the edge digging into your lower back, but you don’t care. You kiss him back, fingers threading into his damp hair, tugging lightly.
Gunwoo groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips. “Umh… fuck,” he mutters, breaking the kiss just enough to speak.
His voice is gravelly, breathless. He kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours in a wet, messy slide that makes heat pool low in your belly.
His hands roam. One slides under your shirt, palm hot against your skin, fingers splaying over your ribs. The other cups the back of your neck, holding you in place as he tilts his head and kisses harder.
The sounds are loud in the quiet café, the wet smack of lips, the soft click of teeth when you both get eager, your shared heavy breathing.
You moan into it, “Ahg… Gunwoo…” Your body arches toward him instinctively. He responds by pressing his hips forward, letting you feel how hard he already is through his sweatpants. The thick length rubs against your thigh and you whimper, the sensation sending sparks up your spine.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide. “Been wanting this,” he says, not poetic, just honest and rough. “Every time I come in here… seeing you behind the counter.”
You don’t answer with words. You pull him back down, kissing him again, tongues tangling. Your hands push at his hoodie. He helps, yanking it off in one quick motion along with the shirt underneath. His chest is bare now broad, defined pecs, abs tight from all the training, a few fresh red marks from the fight. You run your palms over him, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles twitch under your touch.
“Umh… yeah,” he breathes out as your fingers trace lower, brushing the waistband of his pants. He kisses your neck, open-mouthed and wet, sucking lightly at the skin until you gasp,
“Ah—!” The mark he leaves throbs pleasantly.
You fumble with his pants. He helps, shoving them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. It slaps against his stomach once before he presses it against you again, grinding slowly. The friction through your clothes makes you both groan.
“Take these off,” he says against your ear, voice low. His fingers work your pants open, pushing them down your hips along with your underwear. Cool air hits your skin, but his body heat chases it away as he lifts you onto the delivery bar counter. The surface is smooth and cool under your bare ass. Your legs spread naturally as he steps between them.
Gunwoo kisses you again, hard, passionate, lots of tongue. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider. One finger slides through your folds, finding you already wet. “Ahg… so wet for me,” he mutters, almost to himself. He circles your clit once, twice, making your hips jerk. “Umh…”
You moan loudly, the sound echoing a little in the empty café. “Ah—Gunwoo, please…”
He doesn’t make you beg long. He lines himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance. Then he pushes in, slow at first, but steady, stretching you open. The burn is good, intense. You both groan at the same time.
“Fuck… tight,” he hisses through gritted teeth. His hips move forward until he’s buried to the hilt, balls pressed against you. The sensation is full, deep, making your walls clench around him.
He stays there a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. Then he starts to move.
Not gentle.
Hard thrusts that rock the counter, the slap of skin on skin loud and rhythmic. Each push makes your breasts bounce under your shirt. He yanks the fabric up, exposing you, and leans down to kiss and suck at your nipples while he fucks you.
“Ah! Ahg—yes!” you cry out, head falling back. Pleasure shoots through you with every deep stroke. His cock drags against that spot inside that makes your toes curl.
Gunwoo’s pace is relentless but passionate. He kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck, messy, open-mouthed kisses full of tongue and teeth.
“Umh… you feel so good,” he groans, voice breaking on the words. His hips snap forward harder, the wet squelch of your bodies joining obscene in the quiet space.
You wrap your legs around his waist, shoes digging into his lower back, urging him deeper. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in. He hisses at the sting but thrusts even harder, the bar creaking under you.
“Harder—ah—please,” you pant.
He gives it to you.
Deep, powerful strokes that make your vision blur. Sweat slicks both your skins. The sounds are everywhere, your moans mixing with his grunts, the wet slap of his hips meeting yours, the faint creak of the counter.
Gunwoo kisses you again, swallowing your next “Ahg!” as he angles his hips just right. Pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in your core. You clench around him, thighs trembling.
“I’m close—umh—Gunwoo!” you gasp against his lips.
“Me too,” he growls. One hand slides between you, thumb rubbing your clit in firm circles. “Come on… let me feel it.”
The added stimulation sends you over. Your orgasm crashes through you hard. “Ah—ahg—ahhhhh!” Your back arches, walls pulsing around his cock, milking him. Pleasure floods every nerve, making your legs shake.
Gunwoo fucks you through it, thrusts getting erratic. “Fuck—umh—yes—” He buries himself deep one last time, groaning loud and low as he comes. You feel the hot pulses inside you, his cock twitching with each spurt.
He keeps moving slowly for a few more seconds, drawing out the sensations, both of you panting. Then he stills, forehead against yours again. Soft kisses now, on your lips, your cheek, your temple. Passionate but gentler, like he’s coming down from the high.
You stay like that for a moment, connected, breathing each other in. The café is silent except for your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the fridge in the back.
Finally he pulls out carefully. A trickle of his release leaks down your thigh. He grabs some napkins from the counter, cleaning you both up with surprisingly gentle hands.
“You okay?” he asks, voice still rough but softer now.
You nod, smiling a little. “Yeah. Better than okay.”
He helps you down from the counter, steadying you when your legs wobble. Then he pulls you into another kiss, slow, deep. His hands cup your face this time, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
After a while he pulls back, resting his forehead on yours. “Next time… maybe not right after a fight. But I’m not complaining.”
You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “You better bring the money again soon.”
He smirks, just a small one, and kisses you once more before helping you finish closing.