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⤷ fluff. established relationship. humor. domesticity. comfort. playful banter. nostalgic childhood videos. woojin being a menace. kissing. blow job. suggestive themes. mdni.
⤷ summary: after uncovering an old camcorder from your childhood, what starts as a cozy night of reminiscing with Gun-woo and Woojin quickly spirals into chaos when Woojin starts relentlessly rage-baiting you. Determined to prove him wrong, you storm off with the camera, only for Gun-woo to follow after you. Between playful bickering, stolen kisses, and quiet moments that remind you just how deeply you’re loved, the forgotten camcorder ends up preserving far more than childhood memories, capturing a night neither of you ever intended to record.
wc: 5.8k
~
The camera was older than all three of you combined. Its silver casing had long surrendered its shine, softened instead into something dull beneath years of fingerprints and forgotten summers. The strap still smelled faintly of dust after spending more than a decade tucked away inside a cardboard box at your parents’ house, tangled between old birthday cards and mismatched batteries that no longer worked.
You hadn’t expected it to turn on, yet there it was, balanced carefully in your lap, its tiny screen glowing stubbornly back at you as though no time had passed at all.
“I think this button…” you murmured, pressing one at random. The screen flickered, then went black, then flickered again.
Gun-woo laughed quietly beside you. The sound settled somewhere warm inside your chest.
The three of you had migrated to the living room after lunch without really planning to. Takeout containers still cluttered the coffee table, someone (fingers pointed at Woojin) had left a pair of socks near the television, and the apartment carried that comfortable kind of mess that only existed in places people genuinely lived in.
You sat in the middle of the couch, Woojin occupied one end, and Gun-woo the other. Somewhere along the way, he’d unconsciously drifted closer, close enough that his knee rested against yours, close enough that, when another tape finally loaded, his chin found your shoulder without so much as asking. You simply adjusted the camera so he could see better.
A tiny version of yourself came on the screen. Round cheeks, uneven pigtails, a pink raincoat three sizes too big.
Gun-woo’s heart nearly stopped. “…You’re so little.”
“I know,” you laughed.
“You still have the same look,” he whispered absentmindedly.
You blinked. “I do?”
He nodded. “The same nose scrunch too.”
His gaze lingered on the tiny girl wobbling across the screen. Somewhere, entirely uninvited, his thoughts wandered.
Would our child inherit those eyes? Or his? Your smile? His height? Your laugh?
The image disappeared before he could entertain the thought any longer, replaced by static and warped lines dancing across the tiny monitor.
Woojin broke the silence immediately.
“…You kinda looked like Onei Jinushi.”
Your head whipped around. “…Who?”
“The moon guy meme.”
“What moon guy?”
“The big forehead little girl meme.”
You frowned, finally piecing everything together.
“I looked nothing like her.”
“You absolutely did.” He deadpanned.
“I absolutely didn’t.”
Gun-woo bit the inside of his cheek, and Woojin was already grinning. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Another tape loaded, another childhood clip, another opportunity for Woojin to run his mouth.
Gun-woo’s shoulders shook with laughter against yours, so you looked at him.
“You wanna sleep on the couch tonight baby?”
He quickly straightened. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You laughed.”
“I breathed.”
“You laughed while breathing.” Woojin doubled over. The apartment echoed with his laughter until even he had to clutch his stomach.
You looked between the two of them, one laughing, the other trying (and failing) not to.
“You’re both insufferable.” With one dramatic huff, you hugged the camcorder protectively against your chest and stood.
“I hope neither of you ever know peace.”
“You’ll be back in five minutes,” Woojin called after you.
“I’ll be back when you choke Woojin sir.”
“Love you too!”
The bedroom door shut a little harder than necessary, and then silence settled for only a second in the living room. Woojin burst into another fit of laughter, practically collapsing sideways until his head landed against Gun-woo’s shoulder.
“I swear,” he wheezed, “she’s so fun to rage bait.”
Gun-woo finally laughed loud that the corners of his eyes crinkled. “That was so mean you asshole.”
“It’s my favorite hobby.”
Woojin finally caught his breath. “You should probably go.”
“Hm?”
“Before she declares war.”
Gun-woo smiled to himself. “She won’t.”
“…I hope so.”
Still, he gently nudged Woojin away, earning a dramatically offended groan in return.
“I’m going to check on her.”
“Tell Onei I said hi.”
Gun-woo didn’t even bother responding.
~
He opened the bedroom door without knocking. The room greeted him with warm lamplight and comfortable silence.
You sat on the floor beside the bed, your back rested against the mattress, and your legs were loosely crossed. The camcorder remained balanced carefully in your hands.
You hadn’t noticed him. Your brows knitted together in fierce concentration as you replayed the same few seconds again and again.
“…stupid ass Woojin,” you muttered.
Click. Replay.
“Where the fuck do I look like Onei Jinushi?”
Click. Replay.
You leaned impossibly closer to the tiny screen. “I literally don’t.”
Another replay. “…my forehead isn’t even that big.”
A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. You spun around so quickly your hair messily covered your entire face.
“There you are.”
“No shit, I’ve been here the whole time, go laugh with your man.”
“Come on baby, you laughed too.”
“Shut up traitor.”
He closed the door softly behind him before crossing the room. Without saying anything, he crouched in front of you.
“So?”
You immediately shoved the camcorder toward him. “Tell me honestly. Do I look like her?”
Gun-woo accepted the camera, though his attention never really landed on the screen. Instead, he reached forward and gently took it from your hands altogether, setting it on the vanity across the room. It clicked softly against the wood.
Then he returned, his knees settled onto the rug in front of yours. He pretended to study your face with exaggerated seriousness. “Hmm.”
Your expression tightened. “Hm what?”
“I’m going to need to inspect further.” You blinked.
“Show me your forehead.” You gasped.
His lips finally betrayed him, the smile escaped first, then the laugh. Then his eyes drifted back to your face. Truthfully, he’d only teased you because the way your features scrunched together in utter disbelief and indignation was unbearably adorable. He had been seconds away from cupping your cheeks, peppering every inch of your face with kisses, and pulling you into his arms until you forgot all about Woojin.
That fantasy disappeared the moment your fists collided with his chest.
“Kim Gun-woo!”
Each playful hit knocked another laugh out of him, forcing him further and further backward until he lost his balance altogether, landing flat on the floor with a surprised grunt. You followed without hesitation, hovering over him as you continued smacking his chest in dramatic frustration.
“You always take his side! Always!”
His laughter only grew louder, making your pout deepen even more.
Eventually, he managed to catch both of your wrists, your iron fists finally imprisoned inside his much larger hands. With one gentle tug, he pulled you down with him to stop your relentless assault, steadying you as you remained sprawled over him, slightly breathless from your dramatic tantrum.
Slowly, his laughter faded because he couldn’t stop looking at you. Your cheeks had flushed a warm shade of pink, loose strands of hair escaping around your face, your brows still furrowed from your manufactured outrage. You looked impossibly beautiful.
One of his hands slipped free from yours, brushing those stray strands behind your ear with practiced tenderness before settling at the nape of your neck.
“So pretty,” he whispered, almost to himself.
Your expression softened instantly. There it was. His favorite reaction.
The way every ounce of stubbornness melted from your face the second he looked at you like that.
He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead. “You know that?”
Another kiss landed on your temple. “I don’t team up with him.”
The corner of your lips twitched.
“I just laugh because you’re cute.” Another kiss.
“So, so cute.” Your eyes rolled dramatically, though the smile threatening your lips betrayed you completely.
“Ah sure sure, shut up.”
“I mean it!”
He continued showering your face with lazy, affectionate kisses, each one earning a quieter protest than the last until you finally gave in, laughing softly as your own hands found his face. Soon enough, you were returning every kiss he gave you, the two of you dissolving into a mess of giggles and stolen affection.
Then everything slowed. The laughter gradually disappeared, replaced by silence that somehow spoke louder. Your foreheads nearly touched as neither of you moved.
You simply looked at one another. His eyes searched yours with that familiar softness that never failed to make your chest tighten. Without thinking, he leaned in again, and this time, your lips met.
The kiss was slow. It lingered, soft smiles occasionally interrupting it before your lips found each other again.
You were the first to lose whatever restraint remained. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie as you kissed him again with growing urgency, shifting until you were comfortably straddling his lap. He let out the smallest surprised hum against your lips before smiling into the kiss.
When you finally pulled away just enough to breathe, he rested his forehead against yours, still smiling.
“Woojin’s still here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“He’ll hear us.” You smiled innocently as he blinked surprised by your courage.
“That’ll be his punishment for bullying me. Noise pollution.”
For a second, he simply stared. Then a helpless laugh escaped him, shaking his shoulders.
“You are unbelievable.”
“I know.”
He giggled at that, the sound quickly swallowed by another flurry of kisses as you peppered his face again before slowly trailing lower, brushing your lips along his jaw and down to his neck. He melted beneath the affection, letting out quiet, breathy gasps whenever you lingered just behind his ear or along the sensitive curve of his nape.
You slipped his grey hoodie off his shoulders, leaving him in the fitted grey shirt underneath. Then, rather abruptly, you stood and took his hand, gently pulling him up with you, your lips never quite leaving his as you guided him toward the bed.
“Love?” he murmured between kisses.
You answered with nothing more than a soft hum, finally pulling back just enough to look at him.
His cheeks had turned a deep shade of pink, his face flushed from the heat of the moment. The sight drew a small, almost mischievous smile from you. Your eyes drifted lower, noticing the unmistakable bulge growing beneath his grey sweatpants. You cupped him gently through the fabric before rewarding him with one last lingering kiss, catching his bottom lip lightly between your teeth.
Then, without another word, you sank to your knees. Gathering your hair into a loose, messy bun, you pushed his sweatpants and boxers down, exposing him.
Gun-woo didn’t know what to do with his hands. Almost shyly, he rested them against your cheeks. You smiled softly, taking both of his hands in yours before pressing a gentle kiss into each palm. Guiding him backward, you encouraged him to sit on the edge of the bed behind him.
He practically collapsed onto the mattress, already breathless, his thoughts spinning from the sight of you kneeling between his now spread legs, your lips scattering slow, affectionate kisses over him.
He didn’t quite understand how the evening had unraveled into this. One moment, the two of you had been laughing over childhood tapes and arguing about Woojin’s ridiculous teasing; the next, he was sitting here, utterly consumed by you.
The moment your lips finally wrapped around him, every coherent thought vanished. His head fell back with a soft, involuntary gasp as his fingers instinctively gripped the bedsheets beside him, his knuckles whitening beneath the strain.
You took your time with your sweet, shy Gun-woo. He had always been the giver. He always put your pleasure before his own, always made sure you were comfortable, always checked if you were alright before ever thinking about himself. He was forever apologizing on Woojin’s behalf whenever the two of you bickered because he hated seeing you upset, no matter how playful the argument had been.
He loved you so deeply, and you loved him just as fiercely.
You didn’t know what had come over you tonight. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at you with so much tenderness only moments ago. Maybe it was his endless patience, his quiet affection, or the giggles that still lingered between the two of you after such a silly evening. Whatever it was, it filled you with one overwhelming desire: To give him the same kind of love he always gave you.
You wanted this man badly with every part of yourself.
You pushed yourself to take more of him, encouraged by the soft gasps and quiet moans spilling so freely from his lips. Sometimes he’d bite down on his fist in a futile attempt to muffle them; other times, his fingers would tighten around the bedsheets as your tongue traced over him, his body unable to remain still beneath your touch.
You loved the effect you had on him. Every time your eyes met while you worshipped him, he would completely melt. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson before he shyly looked away, only for another breathless gasp to escape him the moment your lips curled into a knowing smile.
“I’m… so close,” he managed to whisper, his voice trembling as he struggled to hold himself together.
In response, you quickened your pace, alternating between slow, teasing movements and faster ones, drawing the moment out just enough for him to savor every second.
Eventually, he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“I can’t…”
You only hummed softly against him, the vibrations sending another wave through him that finally pushed him over the edge. His hand instinctively tangled into your hair, gently pulling you closer as his restraint finally broke, his release catching him completely by surprise.
If anything, the sight of you afterwards, disheveled, breathless, and entirely devoted to him between his thighs nearly overwhelmed him all over again. His head fell back with a shaky exhale, every coherent thought dissolving beneath the sheer intensity of the moment.
When everything had finally settled and the room grew quiet again, only the sound of your breathing remained.
Click.
Followed by the faint mechanical snap of something shutting off. Both of your heads turned toward the sound.
The old video camera.
It sat exactly where Gun-woo had absentmindedly placed it earlier, its tiny red recording light blinking one last time before disappearing.
“…No way.”
You quickly climbed off a thoroughly dazed Gun-woo, who was still struggling to gather his thoughts, and hurried toward the camera. A message flashed across the tiny screen.
[LOW BATTERY. RECORDING STOPPED.]
“…Oh my God.”
Your thumb hesitated only for a second before pressing playback.
The recording began with you angrily clicking random buttons while trying to get the old camera to cooperate, your face filling the frame as you complained about Woojin to Gun-woo.
“Stupid-ass Woojin… where the fuck do I look like Onei Jinushi?”
The footage shook slightly before settling. Then Gun-woo appeared on screen, laughing from the doorway before walking over, taking the camera from your hands, and placing it on the vanity.
Neither of you had realized it had continued recording. The angle… It had been perfect.
“…Goddamn.”
You shrieked, nearly dropping the camera. Behind you, Gun-woo had silently wandered over your shoulder, chin nearly resting beside yours as he watched the footage with wide eyes.
Neither of you spoke for several seconds, and watching the recording unfolding in front of you, then he let out the most awestruck laugh.
You turned to look at him, he was smiling ear to ear like he’d just watched the greatest movie ever made.
“This…” he breathed. “…This is cinematic.”
You stared at him as he looked back at the screen then at you.
“…Can I save it?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Please.” He was already reaching for the camera again. “Please let me transfer it.”
“Kim Gun-woo??”
“I’ll keep it forever.”
“You absolutely will not.”
“I’ll password protect it.”
You slapped his hand away before he could steal it, clutching the camcorder protectively against your chest. “No!”
“But!”
“No!”
“But it’s literally us!”
“Exactly!”
He laughed so hard he had to lean against the vanity to stay standing. and watching him laugh like that, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled shut, you couldn’t help laughing too.
The old camcorder, forgotten for years inside a dusty box, had somehow managed to preserve two completely different memories in a single night.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Kim Gun-woo x Female Reader (! includes suggestive mature content)
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~4k
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: With the championship fight only hours away, Gun-woo’s determination to follow a ridiculous boxing superstition begins to crack under the weight of missing his girlfriend. As nerves, pressure, and expectations build, he starts questioning whether avoiding her is actually helping at all. Thankfully, she knows exactly how to remind him where his strength truly comes from.
Read Part 1 here
-
By the day before the fight, Woo-jin had become completely insufferable.
He followed Gun-woo around the gym like a cursed conscience, appearing at the worst possible moments to whisper warnings that sounded increasingly made up.
“Remember,” he said while Gun-woo taped his wrists, “clear mind, strong fists.”
Gun-woo didn’t look at him. “Go away.”
“Temptation is temporary. Victory is forever.”
“You read that on a bathroom wall.”
“Wisdom can come from anywhere.”
Later, when you arrived with a fresh smoothie and a bag of snacks, Woo-jin physically stepped between you and Gun-woo like a security guard protecting national treasure.
You stopped in front of him. Here comes the root cause of our blue balls.
Woo-jin held up both hands. “No sudden movements.”
You stared. “Move, or I’ll kick your balls.”
“I can’t. I am protecting the future of Korean boxing.”
Gun-woo sighed behind him. “Woo-jin.”
“She is dangerous,” Woo-jin insisted, pointing at you without looking away. “Look at her. She knows what she’s doing.”
You tilted your head innocently. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
You smiled slowly. “Interesting.”
Woo-jin immediately regretted giving you ideas.
Gun-woo saw the smile and visibly panicked.
“No.”
You took one small step forward, and Woo-jin made a strangled noise while Gun-woo looked like he was considering jumping out the window.
The entire gym watched with the kind of attention usually reserved for championship rounds.
You lifted the smoothie. “I brought him fruit.”
Woo-jin narrowed his eyes. “What kind of fruit?”
“Banana.”
Half the gym lost it.
Gun-woo turned away, ears burning red, while you stood there pretending not to understand why everyone was howling with laughter.
The coach had to intervene before Woo-jin collapsed.
“Enough,” he said, though he was laughing too. “Let the man drink his smoothie.”
Woo-jin stepped aside with great reluctance, watching the exchange like a suspicious parent. Gun-woo took the smoothie from you, his fingers brushing yours for one small second, and somehow that was enough to make both of you quiet.
You leaned closer, lowering your voice. “You okay, Woo?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” You nodded, unconvinced.
His mouth curved slightly. “A little nervous.”
“I know.”
You wanted to touch his face, but you knew the gym was watching. So instead, you squeezed his hand once, quick and hidden between your bodies.
Gun-woo’s expression softened so much that Woo-jin groaned behind you.
“This is worse than sex,” he complained. “They’re emotionally intimate.”
Gun-woo nearly choked on the smoothie.
—
The night before the match, Gun-woo couldn’t sleep. You knew before he told you.
He always got quiet when worry found him. Not cold, not distant, just quiet in that heavy way where his thoughts seemed to sink into his bones. He had tried pretending everything was fine during dinner, had nodded through your stories, had even smiled when you stole food from his plate, but his hand kept finding yours under the table and holding on a little too tightly.
So when midnight came and he still hadn’t answered your text, you went to him.
He opened the apartment door wearing sweatpants and a loose white shirt, hair messy, eyes tired, expression guilty.
Then he knowingly and quietly stepped aside for you to come in.
His apartment was dim, the city lights slipping through the curtains in pale streaks. The place smelled faintly like detergent, rice, and the liniment he used after training. It was so painfully him that your chest ached a little.
How alone he must’ve felt.
He followed you to the couch but didn’t sit right away.
“I didn’t call because I didn’t want to bother you,” he admitted.
You turned to face him. “Bother me? Baby, you’re my boyfriend. You’re allowed to bother me.”
His mouth twitched slightly, but the tiredness in his eyes stayed.
You reached for his hand. “Talk to me, Woo.”
Gun-woo looked down at your fingers intertwined with his. For all his strength, for all the intimidation his body could carry in a ring, there were moments like this where he seemed almost too gentle for the world he had been put in.
“I keep thinking about the fight,” he said. “What if I get too slow? What if I disappoint everyone?”
“You won’t disappoint us.”
“What if I disappoint myself?”
That one sat between you for a while. You squeezed his hand.
“Then you’ll come home, rest, and start again. Because that’s what you do.”
He let out a breath, looking away as if the simplicity of it hurt. You stepped closer, placing your free hand against his chest. His heartbeat was strong beneath your palm, steady but fast.
“You don’t have to be perfect tomorrow.”
His eyes returned to yours.
“You just have to fight like you.”
Something in him cracked open quietly then. Gun-woo never needed drama to be vulnerable. It was in the small things, in the way his shoulders lowered, in the way his hand covered yours against his chest, in the way he finally allowed himself to look scared.
“I really want to win,” he whispered.
“I know, love.” His eyes softened at that.
“And you can want that without punishing yourself for being human.”
He laughed faintly, embarrassed. “I’m not punishing myself.”
“Boooo. You haven’t kissed me properly in three days.”
His ears reddened immediately. “That’s discipline.”
“That’s emotional violence.”
He actually laughed then, a real one, the sound low and warm in the quiet apartment.
You smiled, relief blooming inside you, as you nudged his side.
“There he is.”
Gun-woo looked at you for a long moment. Then, carefully, like he had been waiting for permission from himself more than anyone else, he leaned down and kissed your forehead.
You closed your eyes as his lips lingered. When he pulled back, you caught the front of his shirt and tugged lightly. “Nooo, that’s it?”
He looked pained again, nodding disappointingly.
“You’re evil.”
He sighed at your pained expression, defeated by his own choices, then cupped your face with both hands and kissed you properly.
It was soft, aching, full of everything he had been too nervous to say. You melted into him immediately, hands sliding up his arms, feeling the warmth of him, the strength, the exhaustion, the love.
When he pulled away, his forehead stayed against yours.
“You make it hard to focus,” he murmured.
You smiled. “Good. Very good.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling too now.
You stayed that night, though nothing happened beyond the kind of closeness Gun-woo had been starving himself of. You lay together on his bed, your head on his chest, his arm around your waist, his breathing slowly evening out beneath your ear. Every now and then, his fingers moved gently along your back like he was reminding himself you were there.
Before he fell asleep, he whispered your name.
“Mm?”
“If I win tomorrow…”
“You will.”
“If I win,” he repeated, stubborn, “I’m compensating you.”
You lifted your head, amused. “Hmm? How so?”
He smirked knowingly, staring at the ceiling. “You’ll see.”
“What will you do?” you asked, excitement stirring as you leaned on his chest, trying to get him to look at you.
“Maybe I will first carry you around the arena.”
“You’ll be sweaty.”
“I don’t care.”
“There will be cameras.”
“I don’t care.”
“Woo-jin will never shut up.”
“He already doesn’t.” You laughed and stared at him. He stared back, completely serious.
Then you dropped your head back onto his chest, laughing softly.
“Fine. Win first.”
His arm tightened around you. “I will.”
—
The arena on fight night felt alive.
Every sound seemed larger than it should have been. The roar of the crowd, the slap of gloves, the announcer’s voice rolling through the speakers, the camera flashes bursting like lightning over the ring. You had watched Gun-woo fight before, but never like this. Never with this much on the line. Never with his entire future sitting somewhere beneath the lights.
Woo-jin sat beside you and had not been still for a single second.
“I feel sick,” he muttered.
“You’re not the one fighting.”
“I know. That’s why I feel sick. If I were fighting, I would be focused. Right now I’m just suffering.”
You glanced at him. “You look like you’re about to throw up. Are you good?”
“I might.”
Before the conversation could continue, Gun-woo walked out, and the arena shifted.
It was not just that people cheered. They did, loudly, but that wasn’t what made your throat tighten. It was the way he looked under the lights, calm and focused, shoulders loose, gaze forward, every inch of him carrying the discipline he had built over years. He looked intimidating in a way that still sometimes startled you, because you knew the man beneath it. You knew the man who blushed when you teased him, who listened when you reminded him to eat, who held your hand in his sleep, who you so eagerly wanted to devour as soon as you got back home.
But in the ring, he became something else.
Woo-jin leaned toward you without taking his eyes off him. “He looks good.”
You swallowed, eyes drying from ogling at him. “My man sure does.”
The first round began fast. You understood that Gun-woo liked pressure. He absorbed it differently than other people. He watched, adjusted, measured the rhythm of the man in front of him until the fight began revealing itself. Still, every punch that landed against his guard made your body tense. Every time his opponent pushed forward, your fingers curled around the edge of your seat.
Woo-jin noticed. “You okay?”
“No.”
“Good. Me too.”
The second round was worse. Gun-woo took a hit near the ribs that made the crowd gasp, and your heart nearly climbed out of your chest. He recovered quickly, but you saw the tiny shift in his expression. You knew when something hurt him. He always tried hiding it, but his mouth tightened in a certain way.
“Come on,” you whispered, barely aware you had said it aloud.
And he heard you.
You didn’t know how. The arena was too loud, the lights too bright, the entire world too chaotic. But for one impossible second, Gun-woo’s eyes flickered toward your side of the crowd.
Then he moved.
The next combination was beautiful. Sharp, clean, disciplined. His fist found the opening like he had been waiting for it all night, and the sound of the hit cracked through the arena. His opponent stumbled back. Gun-woo followed, controlled but relentless, every movement carrying the weight of the months he had poured into this moment.
By the final round, the whole arena was on its feet. You barely remembered standing. Woo-jin was shouting something beside you, voice breaking. Your hands were shaking. The final bell rang, and for a moment, nobody breathed.
Then the announcer called his name.
Gun-woo won.
The gym team exploded around you. Woo-jin practically jumped over a chair. Cameras flashed from every direction as Gun-woo’s arm was lifted, his face stunned for half a second before joy finally broke through.
You pressed both hands over your mouth.
He had done it. He had actually done it.
Everyone rushed toward him afterward. Coaches, staff, reporters, people who wanted interviews and photos and quotes before he had even caught his breath. Woo-jin made it into the ring somehow and nearly tackled him, shouting directly into his face while Gun-woo laughed, dazed and sweaty and glowing with victory.
But even through all of it, his eyes were searching.
You saw the moment he found you.
Everything else disappeared from his face. The cameras, the reporters, the team, the noise, all gone.
He moved before anyone could stop him. Down from the ring, through the swarm of people, past hands trying to grab his attention. You barely had time to step forward before he reached you, arms wrapping around your body and pulling you so tightly against him that your feet almost left the floor.
“Gun-woo,” you laughed, breathless.
His face pressed into your neck. You felt his breathing, heavy and uneven, felt the damp warmth of him, the tremor still running through his body from adrenaline and disbelief.
“You won, Woo!” you whispered against him as his arms tightened.
“You saw that?!” The simplicity of his excitement ruined you.
You pulled back just enough to hold his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. He was sweaty, bruised, exhausted, and the happiest you had ever seen him.
“I told you!!” you said softly.
His smile grew, slow and bright and entirely yours. Then suddenly his expression shifted.
You knew that look and smirk too well.
“No.”
Gun-woo bent.
“Gun-woo, no.”
He lifted you over his shoulder in one smooth motion, and the arena erupted. From afar, you could distinguish Woo-jin hollering.
You slapped Gun-woo’s back, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Put me down!”
“No.”
“There are cameras!”
“I know.”
“You’re insane!”
“I don’t care. I won!”
He carried you straight past the team, past his coach who looked both proud and exhausted, past Woo-jin who was laughing too hard to stand properly. You hid your burning face against Gun-woo’s back while he walked out like this was the most normal celebration in the world.
Only when he finally reached the quiet hallway outside the locker rooms did he set you down.
The noise of the arena faded behind the door, muffled now, distant. For the first time all night, it was just the two of you in the dim corridor, his body still close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.
You looked up at him, still smiling. “You are ridiculous. Outing me publicly like that?”
He stepped closer. “You teased me all week.”
“You deserved it.”
“But I missed you.” That softened you instantly.
His voice had changed, no longer playful. Beneath the sweat and victory and adrenaline, there was still that same softness from the night before. That same need to come back to you first.
You touched his chest gently. “I was right there.”
“But not close enough.” Your breath caught a little.
Gun-woo noticed. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then returned to your eyes, asking without saying it. Even after years together, he still searched your face for consent first.
You stepped closer and kissed him.
The moment your lips met, the last of his restraint disappeared. His hands found your waist, pulling you in with the kind of relieved desperation that made your knees feel weak. You smiled against his mouth, and he made a small sound like that alone offended him.
“You’re laughing?” he murmured.
“You’re so sweaty,” you giggled mid-kiss.
He kissed you firmly, deeper this time, pressing you gently back until your shoulders met the locker room door. Somewhere down the hall, people were still shouting his name, but he didn’t move. His forehead rested against yours for a second, breathing uneven, smile tugging at his mouth despite the hunger in his eyes.
You couldn’t take it anymore, the heat already pooling.
“Woo, open the door,” you whispered.
Gun-woo froze, then looked at you like he needed to make sure he heard correctly.
You raised an eyebrow, gaze finding his eyes. “Does your superstition still apply after the fight?”
His entire face changed. The shy part of him surfaced first, ears flushing red immediately, but it barely lasted before something warmer and more confident replaced it. He yanked the locker room door open without taking his eyes off you and guided you inside, shutting out the noise behind you.
The room was empty for now, lit by harsh overhead lights and smelling faintly of leather, soap, and victory. His gloves were still somewhere outside. His wraps were half undone. His hair clung damply to his forehead.
You barely had time to take him in before he kissed you again. This time there was no superstition to hide behind, no fight to protect, and finally no Woo-jin lurking around with unwanted wisdom. There was only a needy Gun-woo, warm and solid and finally letting himself have what he had been missing all week.
His hands were careful when taking off your clothes, even when the kiss became less careful. That was always him. Strong enough to break bones, gentle enough to make you ache. You laughed softly when he picked you up against him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you farther inside before sitting on the bench in the middle of the room.
“Still think I ruined your stamina?” you whispered against his mouth, breaking the kiss.
He huffed out a laugh, breathless. “You’re never going to let this go.”
“Never.”
His lips brushed against your jaw. “I won.”
“You did.”
“So I was right.”
You pulled back, offended. “About what?”
“Waiting.”
You stared at him, then he smiled, sweet and shameless in a way that made you want to scream.
“You’re annoying me now.”
“You love me.”
Your answer came immediately. “So much.”
The teasing left his face for a second, replaced by something quieter. His thumb brushed along your cheek, eyes soft and impossibly fond.
“I love you too,” he softly reminded you as he slowly inserted himself in.
The celebration outside continued without him for a while. Woo-jin probably looked for him. His coach probably sighed. Someone definitely made a joke about the superstition finally being broken. But Gun-woo didn’t seem to care, especially not when your hands were tugging his hair and your laugh kept catching against his mouth.
He had won the biggest fight of his career and still looked at you like coming back to you was the part that mattered most.
Later, when the noise finally found its way closer and Woo-jin banged on the locker room door with absolutely no respect for romance, Gun-woo pulled back just enough to glare at the door.
“Yo! Are you alive in there?”
You buried your face against Gun-woo’s shoulder, trying to bite your moans and laughing silently.
Woo-jin knocked again. “If you broke the superstition, that’s allowed, but we have reporters waiting!”
Gun-woo closed his eyes impatiently. “I’m going to kill him.”
You kissed his cheek, and just like that, his anger disappeared. Outside, Woo-jin groaned dramatically. “I heard that silence! Disgusting!”
Gun-woo looked at you, tired and happy and still flushed, and all you could do was smile back.
He had been wrong all week. You were never the thing that would ruin him.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Kim Gun-woo x Female Reader (! includes suggestive mature content)
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~4k
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: A few days before the most important fight of his career, Gun-woo hears about an old boxing superstition claiming fighters should avoid romantic distractions before a match. He thinks it’s ridiculous… until everyone at the gym keeps bringing it up, Woo-jin makes it worse, and suddenly being around his own girlfriend becomes the hardest test of discipline he has ever faced.
Enjoy!
-
The whole thing started because Gun-woo smiled at his phone. That was it.
Nothing suspicious, nothing dramatic, nothing even worth paying attention to under normal circumstances. He had just finished three rounds of bag work, sweat dripping from his hair and down the side of his neck, chest rising and falling steadily as he reached for the towel thrown over the ropes. His coach had been yelling something about footwork, Woo-jin had been making unnecessary comments from the corner as usual, and the entire gym smelled like old leather, sweat, disinfectant, and ambition.
Then his phone rang. The moment your name lit up on the screen, Gun-woo’s entire face changed. The hard focus in his eyes softened first, his shoulders relaxed, and the tension in his jaw eased like somebody had reached into him and loosened a knot. He picked up the call with one hand still wrapped, turning slightly away from the others as if that would somehow make him less obvious.
“Did you eat?” you asked him through the phone before he even got the chance to say hello.
Gun-woo’s shy smile appeared immediately. “Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
His smile widened as he fiddled with the end of the towel draped around his neck. “I ate.”
“Gun-woo.”
“I had rice.”
“With what?” He paused, and that pause betrayed him completely.
From across the ring, Woo-jin’s eyes narrowed like he had just witnessed a crime.
Gun-woo cleared his throat. “Egg.”
“One egg?”
“It was big.”
“Kim Gun-woo!”
He lowered his gaze to the floor, looking almost ashamed, while still smiling like an idiot. “I’ll eat properly after training.”
“You better. And don’t skip stretching just because you’re tired. Your shoulder was stiff yesterday.”
“I know sweetheart.”
“And don’t let Woo-jin convince you convenience-store noodles count as dinner!”
Gun-woo glanced toward Woo-jin, who immediately mouthed, rude.
“I won’t.”
“Good. I miss you, baby. Come back early.”
That did it. The smile he had been trying to control finally broke across his face, soft and helpless and so painfully fond that even the coach stopped pretending not to watch.
“I miss you too,” he said quietly.
The gym fell into a kind of horrible silence. Woo-jin slowly turned toward the closest older fighter beside him, eyes wide with pure delight.
“Oh,” he whispered. “He’s cooked.”
Gun-woo ended the call a minute later after promising, twice, that he would eat real food, stretch properly, and not overtrain. He slipped the phone back into his bag, still wearing that small leftover smile, only to turn around and find half the gym staring at him like he had walked into a trap.
His smile disappeared. “What?”
Woo-jin leaned against the ropes, arms crossed, looking far too pleased for someone who had done nothing productive all morning.
“How many days until the match?”
Gun-woo frowned slightly. “Four.”
Woo-jin nodded gravely. “Dangerous.”
Gun-woo stared at him. “What is?”
“That.”
“What?”
Woo-jin gestured vaguely toward the phone, then toward Gun-woo’s face, then toward his entire existence with theatrical disappointment.
“Love.”
The old boxer sitting near the fan snorted into his coffee. To Gun-woo, he was a retired boxer who had no business being anywhere near the gym, yet somehow appeared every afternoon with a coffee in one hand and unwanted wisdom in the other.
Gun-woo looked between them, confused, while his coach rubbed his forehead as if already regretting the conversation before it had even started.
“What are you talking about?” Gun-woo asked.
Woo-jin pushed himself off the ropes and walked closer, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal government secrets. “You know the rule, right?”
“What rule?”
“The rule.”
Gun-woo blinked. “That does not explain anything.”
“The girlfriend rule,” Woo-jin said, and suddenly half the gym erupted into laughter.
Gun-woo looked even more confused, which only made it worse. One of the assistant trainers shook his head with pity.
“Ah, he doesn’t know.”
The retired boxer near the fan sighed dramatically, setting down his coffee. “Kids these days. No respect for tradition.”
Gun-woo slowly looked at his coach. “What rule?”
His coach tried not to smile and failed. “There is an old boxing superstition.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“If Woo-jin is smiling like that, I already know it’s stupid.”
“It is not stupid,” Woo-jin argued immediately, offended on behalf of nonsense. “This is ancient wisdom.”
“It’s nonsense,” the coach said, then paused, looking at Gun-woo with the kind of expression older men used when they were pretending to be reasonable but still wanted to scare you. “But some fighters do follow it.”
Gun-woo’s eyes narrowed. “Follow what?”
The retired boxer lifted one finger. “Before an important match, no romantic distractions.”
Another fighter added, “No late nights.”
“No alcohol.”
“No changing routine.”
“No girlfriend.”
Woo-jin leaned in with the most punchable grin Gun-woo had ever seen. “And definitely no sex.”
Gun-woo stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed disbelievingly, shaking his head as if the entire gym had collectively lost its mind.
“You guys are serious?”
“Very serious,” Woo-jin said.
“That makes no sense.”
“Tell that to all the fighters who lost because they got weak legs.”
Gun-woo’s smile fell instantly. “That is not how legs work.”
The old boxer pointed at him. “You laugh now. But I knew a lightweight in Busan who ignored the rule before finals. Got knocked down in the second round.”
“Maybe he just fought badly.”
“Maybe,” the old man said, shrugging. “Or maybe his girlfriend destroyed his spirit.”
Woo-jin almost collapsed from laughter.
Gun-woo looked like he regretted waking up that morning.
For the rest of training, they did not let it go. Every time he took a sip of water, someone told him to stay hydrated because he would “need the strength.” Every time his phone buzzed, Woo-jin gasped like he had caught him committing treason. When Gun-woo was stretching, the assistant trainer passed by and muttered, “Flexibility is dangerous at this stage,” before walking away with a straight face.
At first, Gun-woo ignored them.
He knew himself. He knew his body. He knew discipline better than almost anyone in that room. He had spent months preparing for this fight, waking up before sunrise, running until his lungs burned, repeating combinations until his shoulders felt made of stone. He had earned this match through work, not luck, and the idea that being close to his own girlfriend could somehow erase that was so ridiculous that he didn’t even know how to take it seriously.
Then his coach stopped him before he left.
“Gun-woo.”
Gun-woo turned, gym bag slung over one shoulder. “Yes?”
His coach looked amused, but there was something careful beneath it too. “Don’t listen to them too much. But also, don’t lose focus these next few days.”
That was the part that stayed.
Don’t lose focus.
By the time Gun-woo left the gym that night, the superstition had crawled into the back of his mind and sat there comfortably like it had been invited.
Which was unfortunate, because you were waiting outside.
You stood near the streetlamp in one of his hoodies, arms crossed against the evening cold, looking slightly annoyed in that way you always did when he made you wait. The moment you saw him, your expression softened automatically.
Gun-woo stopped walking for half a second. He had seen you a thousand times. Barefaced in the morning, sleepy on his couch, laughing with Woo-jin, stealing fries from his plate, wearing his shirts like you had legal ownership over them. Still, somehow, every time he saw you after training, his chest did something stupid.
You looked up at him. “You’re late.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you stretch?”
He nodded too quickly.
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re lying again.”
“I stretched.”
“For how long?”
He hesitated.
You sighed, reaching for his wrist and pulling him gently toward you. “Come here.”
Normally, Gun-woo would have gone without thinking. He would have bent down when you tugged him closer, accepted the kiss you always pressed against his cheek after training, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you started complaining about how stubborn he was.
Instead, he froze.
Your lips paused inches from his cheek. You blinked. He blinked back. A few seconds passed before your eyes slowly narrowed.
“Why are you standing like a soldier?”
Gun-woo swallowed. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m standing normally.”
“You look like you’re waiting for inspection.”
“I’m tired.”
You lowered your hand, still staring at him. “Did you get hit in the head today?”
“No.”
“Did Woo-jin tell you something stupid?”
Gun-woo looked away.
Your entire face changed.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Gun-woo?”
He regretted everything immediately.
You stared at him for three silent seconds, trying to decipher what was wrong with the statue of a man standing in front of you.
“Mr. Celibate decided not to kiss me today? What is this, some kind of pre-match superstition you’re following?” you asked teasingly, pretending to turn away from him.
“What!” Gun-woo jerked nervously.
That made you turn toward him so fast.
No way he was being for real now.
“Gun-woo?! Are you serious?” you asked, astonished.
He quietly lowered his head. That was his answer to you, and his ears went red so fast.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, covering your mouth. “You actually are following this bullshit?! Whose take was it?”
“I just heard it.”
“And you believed it!”
“I didn’t believe it.”
“Then kiss me!”
He froze again.
The look you gave him made him lower his head shyly in defeat again.
You stepped closer, and because he was still him, because his body had always moved toward you before his thoughts could interfere, his hand immediately lifted to your waist.
Then he remembered.
His hand stopped midair, hovering like a confused robot.
You looked down at it. Then back at him.
“Baby.”
He winced. “Don’t call me that right now, please.”
Your smile turned wicked. “Why?”
“Because you know why.”
“I really don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
You leaned closer just enough for your perfume to reach him, soft and familiar and completely unfair. “Are you scared of me?”
Gun-woo looked physically pained. “No.”
“Are you scared I’m going to ruin your fight?”
“No.”
“Are you scared I’m going to destroy your legs and your stamina?”
A sound escaped him somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and you nearly lost it right there on the sidewalk.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” he said.
“I’ve never enjoyed anything more.”
He stared down at you, trying so hard to look serious while his ears remained red and his hand still hovered near your waist like it wanted to disobey him.
Finally, he sighed and let it fall gently against your back.
“Just until the fight, please,” he muttered.
You blinked. “Wait. You’re actually going to do it?”
Gun-woo looked away again, and your laughter followed him all the way to the car.
—
By the second day, the situation had become unbearable.
Not for you, but for him.
You adapted beautifully. In fact, you treated the whole thing like a personal comedy show arranged for your entertainment. You wore his favorite sweater on purpose, sat closer than necessary whenever you visited the gym, touched him innocently whenever you felt like it, and every time he stared at you in disbelief, you simply claimed you were wiping sweat off his face or brushing dust off his shoulder.
Gun-woo, on the other hand, was suffering.
The problem was not that he lacked discipline. Discipline was the one thing nobody could question about him. If he was told to run, he ran. If he was told to rest, he rested, though badly. If he was told to control his weight, his meals, his sleep, his training load, he did it without complaint.
But you were not a training restriction.
You were his home. So it felt wrong to treat you like something dangerous.
That night, you came over to his apartment with dinner because you did not trust him to feed himself properly during fight week. Gun-woo opened the door and immediately regretted it because you stood there holding bags of food, wearing leggings and one of his oversized zip-ups, looking far too comfortable in his space and far too pleased with yourself.
“I brought actual food,” you announced, stepping inside. “Because I know you, and I know Woo-jin, and between the two of you, I don’t trust either of you with nutrition.”
Gun-woo took the bags from your hands automatically. “I ate.”
“One egg does not count as a meal.”
He smiled despite himself and carried everything to the table. For a while, things felt normal. You sat across from him, scolding him for not adding enough side dishes to his plate, and he listened with that soft patience he had only for you. His hair was still damp from a shower, his hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms, and every time you looked at him too long, you had the violent urge to bite him.
Which was, unfortunately, not allowed under his new imaginary religion.
After dinner, you moved to the couch. Usually, this was the part of the night where Gun-woo would stretch out with you tucked into his side, one arm heavy around your waist while some show played on the television and neither of you paid attention. Sometimes he fell asleep first as you played with his hair. Sometimes you did. Sometimes Woo-jin called to bother him and got insulted by both of you at once.
Tonight, however, Gun-woo sat at the far end of the couch.
You stared at the distance between you. Then at him.
Gun-woo stared at the television like it had just revealed the meaning of life.
You slowly shifted closer, and his shoulders tensed.
You shifted again, so he glanced at you, and you smiled innocently.
He exhaled through his nose.
“At this point, this whole thing feels disrespectful.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re moving.”
“It’s a couch. People move.”
“You’re doing it on purpose.”
“You think very highly of yourself.”
Gun-woo gave you a sassy look, but that was his mistake because the second his eyes met yours, his expression softened. That always happened. Even when he was trying to be stern, even when he was annoyed, even when he had every intention of holding his ground, looking at you too long made him forget why he was resisting in the first place.
Making use of that momentary lapse in judgment, you suddenly climbed into his lap.
Gun-woo went completely still.
His hands lifted automatically, hovering uselessly near your hips, and you almost laughed because for someone who could throw grown men across rooms, he looked genuinely helpless under the weight of his own girlfriend.
“Is this against your rule?” you asked.
His jaw tightened. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I don’t know the details.”
“So you’re following a rule you don’t understand?”
“I’m trying to focus.”
“You’re trying not to touch me.”
“That is part of focusing.”
“You’re not even blinking.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re staring at my mouth.”
Gun-woo closed his eyes like a man begging for divine strength.
You smiled and leaned in, brushing your lips against his cheek instead of his mouth. His breath caught anyway, so quietly that anyone else might have missed it, but you were not anyone else.
You softened a little then. The teasing was fun, but missing him was not.
Because he was right there, beneath you, warm and solid and tense in a way that had nothing to do with fighting. His hands finally settled on your waist, careful and restrained, and the gentleness of it made your heart squeeze.
“Gun-woo,” you said quietly.
He opened his eyes.
“You know you can just kiss me, right?”
For a second, the humor disappeared from his face. Something vulnerable passed through instead, quick and honest. He looked down at where his hands rested against you, thumbs barely moving over the fabric of your sweater.
“I know.”
“Then why are you acting like I’m going to suck the strength out of you through your mouth?”
His lips twitched, and you smiled too, but he didn’t answer immediately.
When he finally did, his voice was lower.
“This fight is important.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to make a mistake.”
Your fingers brushed gently through the damp hair near his temple. “You won’t.”
He leaned into the touch before he could stop himself, and that tiny surrender did something to you. Gun-woo had always been affectionate, but there was something different about him when he was nervous. He became quieter, more careful, like his own emotions embarrassed him.
“What if I lose?” he asked.
The question came so softly that your teasing died completely.
You looked at him for a long moment, taking in the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the small bruise near his jaw from sparring, the disciplined exhaustion sitting in his shoulders. This fight was not just another match to him. It was years of wanting, years of work, years of proving he could become something without losing the softness that made him who he was.
“Then you lose,” you said.
His eyes lifted to yours.
“And I’ll still be here.”
His expression changed. You continued, because he needed to hear it plain.
“You didn’t get here because you avoided me for four days. You got here because you worked harder than anyone I know. Because you trained when you were tired, because you listened, because you got back up every single time something knocked you down. Your success doesn’t come from a superstition, Gun-woo. It comes from you.”
He stared at you like every word had landed somewhere deep. Then he leaned forward and buried his face against your shoulder, so you hugged him immediately.
He didn’t resist. His arms wrapped around you properly, firm and familiar, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his and his breathing finally eased. You felt him relax slowly, the worry in his body softening under your hands.
“I miss you,” he muttered into your shoulder.
You laughed softly. “I’m literally on top of you, dummy.”
“I know.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m serious.”
That made you smile into his hair. “I miss you too.”
He lifted his head enough to look at you. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and the battle inside him was so obvious you almost felt cruel for watching it.
“You can kiss me, Woo,” you whispered.
Gun-woo hesitated for one last, painful second.
Then his phone buzzed on the table.
The screen lit up with Woo-jin’s name.
Gun-woo glanced at it.
Then you glanced at it.
The message preview screamed:
DON’T DO IT. THINK OF THE TITLE BELT. 🚨
You burst out laughing so hard you nearly fell off his lap, to which Gun-woo picked up a pillow and threw it across the room with impressive violence.
-
Read part 2 here!
It was too long to include in one post.
i recently found out this superstition actually exists in the boxing world, and considering i spent this week mourning the fact that Do hwan was literally twenty minutes away from me and i still didn’t see him, my brain immediately decided that someone needed to suffer for it. Unfortunately for Gun-woo, that someone was him :)
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hi hi!! new anon :) can i request a black cat! reader x either woojin or gun woo? smth where reader is quiet & introverted!
just figured out how these requests work 😭 sorry for the late reply anon!
i wrote this one a little differently than usual so you can imagine either gun-woo or woo-jin as the love interest while reading. i purposely kept it as “he” throughout the story because honestly… i could see both of them reacting this way in their own ways, so feel free to insert whichever bloodhound has your heart 🩵
enjoy!
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bloodhounds Male Character (Gun-Woo or Woo-jin) x Reader (f)
The first thing he noticed about you was that you never asked for anything.
Rides home after missions? Help carrying equipment? Never. Not even for something as simple as a charger when your laptop died halfway through a briefing.
You would rather spend three hours finding another solution than inconvenience someone for thirty seconds.
At first, he thought it was independence. You’re picky and liked to do things your own way. Then he realized it was something else.
Because every time somebody offered help, your shoulders tensed slightly.
Was it kindness that made you uncomfortable?
The second thing he noticed was that you never complained, which, in his opinion, was significantly worse.
The team often joked that you were part ghost. You spent most of your days tucked behind multiple monitors in the operations room, fingers flying across keyboards while surveillance footage, financial records, and security feeds reflected in your glasses.
You rarely spoke unless someone asked you a direct question. Even then, your answers were usually short.
Yes. No. Maybe. Okay.
Meanwhile, everyone else filled the silence for you. Especially him. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure why he kept talking to you.
Most of the time, you only responded with a nod. Occasionally, a hum.
Yet somehow, he kept finding reasons to stand beside your desk. One day he brought you coffee. Another day he started asking questions he already knew the answers to. He wanted to linger.
And every single time, you looked equally confused by it, which he found strangely adorable.
-
The mission had gone slightly off plan before noon. As discussed (or as he had strictly directed) you were supposed to stay inside the surveillance van.
Monitor cameras, track movement, feed information through the earpieces, and please stay safe.
Instead, the sound of shouting exploded through the comms, then gunfire, then silence.
You watched through a security camera feed as one of the team’s men got cornered in an alley with three attackers closing in.
Before anybody could stop you, you left the van.
Every few minutes previously, he checked in about your safety and location through the earpiece, to which you fed him your usual one-word responses.
“Yes.”
But by the nth time he checked in, he didn’t receive a reply from you. His anxiety immediately began to rise.
After making sure the rest of the team had the situation under control, he rushed back toward the area where the van was stationed.
By the time he arrived, two men were unconscious on the pavement, and a third was groaning beside a dumpster, while you stood nearby, breathing heavily.
You hadn’t even noticed he was standing behind you, stunned.
Instead, you were staring with disgust at the man sprawled on the ground who had tried choking you seconds earlier.
“Fucking asshole,” you muttered, wiping your bloodied knuckles against your jacket.
That was the first complete sentence he had ever heard from you, and to his surprise, it was a curse.
Surprise aside, he had been furious, because you had just thrown yourself into a fight you had no business being in.
When he looked at you afterward, he noticed something wasn’t right. Your movements were slower. But every time he asked if you were okay, you answered the same way.
“Yes.”
—
Three hours later, everyone returned to headquarters, and the mood was surprisingly good since the mission’s objective had been completed.
The rest of the team gathered together, debating what food and drinks to order, while you had silently removed yourself from the discussion and disappeared into the kitchen.
From the corner of the room, he watched you go, and something bothered him. Till he saw it.
A dark stain slowly spreading across the sleeve of your jacket. Blood.
His stomach dropped.
Without thinking, he excused himself from his conversation with the undercover policeman and followed you immediately.
You were reaching for a bottled drink when a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist. The touch startled you, but before you could react, he was already pulling you down the hallway.
“Wha-”
“Come here.” His voice left absolutely no room for discussion.
You blinked in confusion as he guided you toward one of the spare bathrooms connected to his room, and the door shut behind you, then he finally turned around.
“What happened?”
You stared at him. “What?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you don’t know.” Only then did his gaze drop toward your arm. You followed it.
The blood had soaked through the fabric completely now. “Oh.”
Oh. Like that was all it deserved.
His expression darkened immediately. “Take the jacket off.”
“It’s fine.”
“No.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“No.” The firmness in his voice surprised even you.
Slowly and reluctantly, you removed the jacket. The second it slid off your shoulder, both of you froze.
The cut running across your side was far deeper than either of you had expected, not life-threatening, but certainly not something a normal person would ignore for hours.
He stared at it. then stared at you, then back at the injury. “You’ve been walking around like this all afternoon?”
You shifted awkwardly, which was an enough answer.
Something hurt flashed across his face. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
You looked away. The question should have been easy. Instead, your throat tightened unexpectedly.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not true.” He crouched in front of the first-aid cabinet and began gathering supplies.
Eventually, he asked again, softer this time. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
You swallowed, then told the truth. “I didn’t think anyone would want to.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, and the room went completely silent. Immediately, you wished you could take them back.
When you finally looked at him, his expression had changed completely. He didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then, quietly, “Don’t say that.”
Your eyes dropped to the floor. His voice broke your heart a little. Not because it was loud, because it wasn’t. He sounded devastated instead, and it hurt you to think you had disappointed him.
The rest of the treatment happened in silence, surrounded only by warm hands, antiseptic, bandages, and his careful movements.
Every now and then, he would ask if something hurt, and you always answered no. Every time, he gave you a look that clearly said he didn’t believe you.
Eventually, the wound was cleaned and wrapped, yet neither of you moved.
“You know,” he said eventually, “you’re allowed to need people.” You stared at your hands and gave no response.
“You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Something inside your chest cracked, and your vision blurred unexpectedly. One tear slipped down your cheek before you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You hated crying. Especially in front of people. And you certainly hated it more that you were crying in front of him now.
But suddenly, you felt so open, and so small.
You immediately tried turning away, but he noticed and gently repositioned you to face him again.
You tried covering your face, desperate to hide the embarrassment, and he quickly removed your hands.
Helpless, your head eventually dropped forward against his chest as you continued crying, and slowly, you wrapped your arms around him.
Your first hug. The first contact you had ever willingly initiated.
For a moment, he froze. He understood exactly how much it had cost you, and slowly and carefully, his arms came around you.
Neither of you spoke. Eventually, one of his hands came to rest on your head as he pulled you closer, giving you all the space you needed to let it out until your breathing finally steadied.
And for the first time in a very long time, you allowed yourself to stop carrying everything alone.
Just for a little while, it was okay to let someone else hold the weight.
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: sniper!reader, protective!gunwoo, jealous!gunwoo, badass!gunwoo, car chase trope, reader sitting on gunwoo while he drives, shy but possessive gunwoo, established tension, teasing & flirting, action and romance, reader and gunwoo being obsessed with each other, gunwoo losing his mind respectfully, season 2 based, woojin third wheeling against his will, making out in the car, heavy and explicit smut, soft dom!gunwoo energy.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After a mission goes catastrophically wrong, Gun-woo, Woo-jin, and you find yourselves speeding through Seoul in the middle of a violent car chase while Baek Jeong’s men close in from every direction. Un(fortunately) for Gun-woo, your solution to getting a cleaner sniper angle involves climbing directly onto his lap while he’s driving at full speed.
Things somehow get worse (maybe not!) after that.
It’s my birthday! here’s my gift to yall 💋
The black SUV behind you rammed into the side of the car hard enough to shake the entire vehicle.
“Left, LEFT-” Woo-jin shouted, gripping the handle above the door as Kim Gun-woo swerved violently through the narrow Seoul street, tires screeching against rain-slick pavement.
Gun-woo’s jaw tightened. “I know!”
Another gunshot shattered somewhere behind them. The rear windshield cracked instantly.
“Jesus Christ!” Woo-jin ducked.
The mission had collapsed twenty minutes ago.
What was supposed to be a clean intel pickup turned into a full pursuit after one of Baek Jeong’s men recognized you during the exchange. Now three SUVs chased your car through the city while bullets tore through signboards and alley walls behind you.
And somehow, Gun-woo was still driving frighteningly well. One hand gripped the steering wheel tightly while the other shifted gears sharply as he drifted around another corner. Streetlights flashed across his face in quick intervals, illuminating the focused tension sitting behind his eyes.
You steadied yourself from the backseat while loading another magazine into your sniper rifle.
“We need a cleaner angle,” you muttered.
“We need divine intervention,” Woo-jin corrected breathlessly.
Gun-woo glanced quickly toward the rearview mirror. “They’re getting closer.”
Another SUV appeared beside yours suddenly. It was too close, and one of the men leaned halfway out the window with a gun raised directly toward your car.
“Gun-woo,” you warned sharply.
“I see him.” Then the car drifted violently again.
The movement almost threw you sideways before instinct took over completely.
You climbed forward between the seats without thinking.
Woo-jin immediately reacted. “…Why are you moving like that?”
“I need a better shot.”
“There’s no spac-”
Then suddenly you were halfway over the center console, and directly on top of Gun-woo.
Everything froze for one catastrophic second. Especially Gun-woo.
Your knees planted on either side of his thighs while one hand braced against the seat behind him to steady yourself. Your chest pressed against his shoulder as you leaned across him toward the driver-side window, trying to position the rifle properly.
Gun-woo’s brain stopped functioning immediately because your body was suddenly everywhere.
Your hair brushing his neck. Your thigh against his lap. Your chest dangerously close to his face every time the car swerved.
And the worst part?
You smelled really good.
Woo-jin looked between both of you in disbelief.
“Oh my God.”
“Shut up,” Gun-woo muttered instantly, face burning.
“You’re BLUSHING? Right NOW?”
“I’m driving!”
“Your ears are red!” Another gunshot exploded beside the car.
You finally found your angle and leaned farther across Gun-woo’s lap, one hand gripping the roof handle while aiming through the shattered window.
“Keep the car steady.” you shouted orders at a very flustered Gun-woo, while he genuinely thought he might pass away.
Because steady? come on.
How was he supposed to keep anything steady right now?
Your stomach pressed against his shoulder every time he shifted gears, and the soft curve of your chest brushed his jaw during another sharp turn.
“If you want steadiness then remove your ass from his view! We’ll crash-“, Woo-jin complained worriedly, before another swerve got him silenced.
Meanwhile, you remained completely focused on shooting, a sniper by trade, and a menace by accident.
You fired once? The pursuing SUV swerved violently.
Twice? Its front tire exploded.
The vehicle spun hard across the road before crashing into a divider behind them.
Woo-jin screamed triumphantly. “LET’S GO!”
You smiled slightly while lowering the rifle, then finally noticed the silence beneath you.
Gun-woo had gone completely rigid as you looked down. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“…Gun-woo?”
“Please move.” he said immediately.
Woo-jin burst into laughter so violently he almost choked. “Oh this is unbelievable.”
Your brows lifted. “You literally carry grown men for a living.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Gun-woo’s face somehow reddened more.
Woo-jin looked seconds away from tears. “You’re making him nervous.”
“I AM NOT NERVOUS.” Another drift sent your body against him again.
Gun-woo visibly short-circuited, and Woo-jin completely lost it.
—
By the time the team regrouped near the abandoned warehouse safepoint outside the city, everyone immediately surrounded the car checking for injuries.
Mr. Moon shouted something about the damaged doors while he inspected the bullet holes near the trunk.
Woo-jin exited the car first, still laughing, then Gun-woo stepped out next, expression unreadable. But you noticed immediately, especially because he suddenly refused to look directly at you.
Interesting.
“You okay?” you asked casually while slinging the sniper rifle over your shoulder.
Gun-woo nodded too quickly. “Fine.”
Woo-jin snorted loudly beside him, so Gun-woo elbowed him hard enough to almost send him into another car.
“Ow-“
“Shut up.”
Unfortunately for Gun-woo, Woo-jin noticed everything, including the fact that Gun-woo kept glancing toward your waist every few seconds before aggressively looking away again like he was fighting demons internally. It was the first time he sees his friend flustered.
And honestly? You found it adorable.
The next route discussion happened quickly afterward around the warehouse tables. The team needed to split vehicles again to avoid being tracked further through the city.
Woo-jin opened his mouth immediately. “I’ll go with Gun-woo—”
“No.” Everyone looked up.
Gun-woo cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean… you should stay with Mr. Moon hyung.”
Woo-jin blinked slowly. “…Why?”
“You’re louder.”
“What does that even mean?” Gun-woo refused to elaborate.
Meanwhile you stood there pretending not to notice the fact that he was very obviously trying to get you alone, which got you smirking.
Man he was terrible at hiding it.
Eventually, the routes got finalized anyway: Two cars, split directions, and regroup later.
And exactly like Gun-woo wanted, you ended up alone with him in the final vehicle leaving the warehouse.
The second the last team car disappeared down the road, silence filled yours immediately. Rain tapped softly against the windshield while city lights streaked across the windows.
Gun-woo drove quietly at first while you leaned comfortably against the passenger seat, watching him from the corner of your eye.
“You survived earlier.”
“What?” Gun-woo frowned slightly.
“You almost had a heart attack while I was on top of you.”
His grip tightened around the steering wheel instantly. “So you did that on purpose?”
“I was trying to save our lives.”
“You could’ve warned me first.”
“Would you have said yes?” You smiled, then leaned towards him a bit teasingly.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Gun-woo glanced at you briefly before looking back at the road. His ears were red again, and your chest tightened stupidly at the sight.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” you admitted softly.
The car nearly swerved. “I’m not flustered.”
“You almost stopped breathing.”
“You had a sniper rifle in my face!”
“And? forgetting something else?”
“And you were-” He stopped himself too late.
You tilted your head slightly. “I was what?”
Gun-woo stayed silent. You leaned closer slowly across the console, tilting your head even more against your rested palm, smirking now.
“What was I, Gun-woo?”
His jaw tightened. “You know.”
That answer sent heat straight into your stomach. The tension inside the car became unbearable after that, because now neither of you were joking anymore.
One glance at you and he decided he was done talking and bearing the teasing. He finally parked near an empty overlook outside the city, hands still gripping the steering wheel too tightly.
Rain continued softly outside while your shared breathing filled the car, as suddenly you climbed over the center console again.
This time intentionally.
Gun-woo looked up instantly, and whatever restraint remained between both of you finally snapped.
He grabbed your waist immediately, pulling you onto his lap while his mouth crashed against yours hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.
The kiss felt hot and messy from the beginning, as everything exploded at once inside the cramped car.
Your hands tangled into his black shirt while he pushed the driver’s seat all the way back roughly enough to shake the vehicle.
You absent mindedly threw the sniper rifle as it clattered against the passenger seat beside you, while you kissed him harder.
Gun-woo answered instantly, one large hand gripping your waist while the other slid into your hair carefully, almost reverently despite how rough his breathing had become.
“Please stop driving me insane,” he asked shakily against your mouth.
A laugh escaped you breathlessly. “All because I sat on your lap?”
“You know that’s not all you did.” Your stomach flipped violently.
The windows fogged slowly around you while rainwater streaked down the glass outside. Gun-woo kissed down your jaw afterward, slower now, deeper, like he finally let himself enjoy this instead of resisting it.
You shivered when his forehead rested briefly against yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured quietly.
Instead, you pulled him back toward you by the collar, and that was it for him, as his kisses turned needier immediately.
His hands tightened against your thighs while your breathing became uneven against his neck. Every small sound you made seemed to affect him ten times harder.
Then suddenly, the positions shifted.
Within seconds, you found yourself pressed back against the driver’s seat instead, Gun-woo towering above you in the cramped space of the car. His chest rose heavily with every breath while his hands slid beneath your shirt, pushing the fabric upward slowly as his kisses trailed lower across your skin.
Your pulse nearly stopped.
Gun-woo’s hands moved over you carefully but possessively, like he still couldn’t believe he was finally allowed to touch you like this. His mouth brushed across your stomach before he crouched between your legs in the limited space left by the pushed-back seat.
Then he looked up at you, quietly asking for permission without words.
You didn’t even let him finish asking before helping him tug your jeans down desperately yourself, already too far gone to feel embarrassed anymore. The second the fabric disappeared, Gun-woo exhaled shakily beneath his breath like he was trying to control himself.
He hooked your legs carefully over his shoulders afterward, settling himself fully between them while his eyes stayed fixed on you the entire time.
And once he started, every coherent thought left your body instantly. Your head fell back hard against the seat while one of your hands searched blindly for something to hold onto, finally gripping the leather armrest beside you. Gun-woo noticed immediately and gently took your wrists instead, guiding your fingers into his soft hair.
“Here,” he murmured quietly against your skin.
The raspiness in his sound tipped it all. Because despite how intense he looked beneath you, despite the way he kissed and touched you like he had been starving for this for weeks, there was still something devastatingly soft about him.
And he was absolutely unbearable once he realized how sensitive you were for him. Every reaction pulled something cocky out of him.
His pace deepened whenever you gasped too loudly. His mouth lingered longer whenever your thighs trembled around his shoulders. And every time your fingers tugged helplessly at his hair, that stupid gorgeous smirk appeared briefly against your skin before he buried himself between your legs again like he wanted you completely ruined.
You were seeing stars.
The same man who got flustered because your chest brushed his face earlier was now looking up at you with dark, unwavering eye contact while completely undoing you beneath him.
And when he noticed you getting close, his restraint disappeared entirely, as his grip tightened against your thighs while his pace quickened just enough to send your breathing into chaos.
There he had you. On the exact same seat where you spent half the day teasing him.
Completely undone for him, by him.
The moment you finally fell apart beneath him, Gun-woo slowed immediately, breathing just as hard as you were by the time he lifted himself back up. His lips glistened faintly in the dim light.
And somehow, despite everything, he still looked shy underneath the confidence that had suddenly taken over him.
“Serves you right,” he muttered quietly, trying and failing to sound smug. You stared at him in disbelief.
He then pulled you back onto his lap again carefully, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while he rested back against the seat.
Something softer settled into his expression afterward as he looked at you. Maybe because seeing you like this affected him more than he expected.
The same woman who had been hanging halfway out of a moving car earlier shooting at armed men without hesitation was now melted against his chest, completely exhausted because of him alone.
Your forehead rested against his chest while both of you caught your breath slowly inside the dark car.
Outside, Seoul glowed faintly beneath the rain. Inside, Gun-woo looked at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.
Then suddenly he restarted the engine. You blinked. “…That’s it?”
Gun-woo’s mouth twitched slightly, “We still have a mission.”
You groaned dramatically before trying to climb back into your seat, but Gun-woo stopped you immediately.
One arm wrapped securely around your waist instead. “Stay.”
Your brows lifted slightly “Gun-woo, you’re driving.”
“I know.”
“And I’m on top of you.”
“I know.”
“You complained for thirty minutes earlier.”
“That was before.” Heat rushed into your face instantly.
He adjusted one hand back onto the steering wheel before pulling onto the empty road again, keeping you sprawled comfortably against his lap while the city lights blurred around the car.
Cold wind drifted through the cracked window beside you, sending your hair flying softly across both your faces while music played quietly through the speakers.
Gun-woo rested his chin briefly against your shoulder at the next red light, and for the first time that entire night, neither of you said anything at all.
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After Baek Jeong’s men ambush one of the team’s routes, everyone is forced into hiding at a remote cabin outside Seoul. Gun-woo becomes increasingly unbearable about your safety, hovering around you like breathing depends on it. Things only get worse after another man throws himself in front of a knife to protect you… and Gun-woo realizes he hates the idea of someone else being able to.
Enjoy!
Rain hammered against the cabin windows that night, heavy enough to swallow the forest surrounding the safehouse whole.
Inside, however, the tension felt worse than the storm itself. The cabin arranged for the team sat hidden far outside Seoul after Baek Jeong’s men ambushed one of their routes earlier that evening. Everyone made it out alive, barely, but the attack confirmed something none of them wanted to admit aloud: Baek Jeong was getting closer.
Gun-woo had been unbearable about it the entire mission.
Not officially, though. Nobody told him to stay glued to your side; not Woo-jin, not Mr. Moon, and definitely not you. You were part of the team too. You could fight, you could shoot, and you had survived worse long before him.
But still, Gun-woo hovered around you like breathing depended on it. His hand constantly found the small of your back whenever crowds got too tight. He walked slightly ahead of you during routes, always checking corners first. Every time someone unfamiliar looked at you too long, his expression darkened almost immediately.
And you noticed every single thing. You found it adorable.
Earlier that afternoon, after he nearly shoved a man away for brushing too closely past you during the escape route, you finally laughed.
“Gun-woo,” you teased while jogging beside him through the rain-soaked alleyway, “are you my bodyguard now?”
Gun-woo didn’t even glance your way. “No.”
You smiled instantly. “Really? Because you almost killed that taxi driver with your eyes.”
“He was too close.”
“He bumped into me accidentally.”
“He still touched you.” The answer came out so quickly that even Gun-woo seemed caught off guard by himself, the tips of his ears reddening almost immediately.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling harder. Because despite his broad shoulders, bruised knuckles, and terrifying punches, Gun-woo had always been disastrously transparent when it came to you.
Unfortunately for him, you noticed everything. Unfortunately for you, you were already completely in love with him. And that was becoming a serious problem.
-
The ambush happened less than an hour later. It was fast, violent, and chaotic.
One black SUV suddenly swerved across the road while headlights exploded through the rain from behind. Then came the shouting. Men flooding out from both sides. Gunshots. Pipes. Knives glinting beneath the streetlights.
Gun-woo shoved you behind him immediately while Woo-jin cursed somewhere nearby, throwing punches fast enough to crack teeth.
Everything blurred together afterward. Rainwater mixed with blood across the pavement while bodies collided violently beneath flickering streetlights. You barely had time to react before one of Baek Jeong’s men rushed toward you from the side, knife raised high.
But someone moved first, Min-jae. One of the newer men working with Mr. Moon’s team.
He threw himself directly between you and the blade without hesitation, the knife tearing across his side instead.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Min-jae!”
Gun-woo froze for half a second after hearing your voice, then he looked over and saw your hands grabbing Min-jae immediately, trying to steady him while blood soaked through his shirt. Even injured, Min-jae still positioned himself protectively in front of you.
And Gun-woo understood something ugly right then. As a man, he knew exactly why another man would move like that.
Nobody throws themselves in front of a knife unless feelings are involved.
Something twisted painfully inside his chest. Fear.
Because suddenly, Gun-woo realized someone else could protect you too, and he hated how much that thought suffocated him.
-
By the time everyone reached the cabin later that night, exhaustion hung heavily across every room.
Mr. Moon and Woo-jin discussed routes upstairs while Min-jae disinfected his injury near the fireplace downstairs. You stayed beside him helping quietly, handing over gauze and alcohol while checking whether the wound needed stitches.
Gun-woo sat farther across the room in complete silence, and Woo-jin noticed immediately.
“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath while watching Gun-woo stare toward the fireplace. “He’s jealous.”
Min Beom looked up briefly. “Who?”
Woo-jin pointed subtly toward Gun-woo.
Gun-woo looked seconds away from beating someone unconscious.
Unfortunately, every time Min-jae quietly asked if you were okay or thanked you for helping him, Gun-woo’s expression darkened further. Until eventually he stood up abruptly and disappeared into the kitchen without a word.
Woo-jin watched him leave before glancing toward you, then toward Min-jae, then back toward you again.
“Oh, this is bad.”
-
The kitchen remained dim except for the warm light above the stove. Gun-woo stood near the sink pretending to drink water while internally trying not to lose his mind.
You entered quietly a minute later.
He heard you immediately but refused to turn around.
“You’re being mean,” you said softly from the doorway.
Gun-woo tightened his grip around the glass. “I’m tired.”
“You almost ripped Woo-jin’s head off for asking where the medicine kit was.”
Silence filled the kitchen for a moment while rain battered against the windows.
Then finally: “You should stay near him then.”
Your brows pulled together immediately. “…What?”
“That guy.”
Gun-woo finally turned toward you, jaw tense. “He seems good at protecting you.”
There it was. Jealousy. Raw and impossible to hide anymore.
Your chest tightened so painfully you almost smiled by accident. Because this was Gun-woo. Sweet, painfully reserved Gun-woo who swallowed every feeling whole instead of speaking it aloud.
And now he looked genuinely wounded by you.
You stepped closer slowly. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You look miserable.”
“That’s your fault.” The answer slipped out before he could stop it, and your heart nearly exploded.
Gun-woo looked away immediately afterward, frustrated with himself.
“You scared me today,” he admitted quietly.
That changed everything, and your teasing softened instantly. “Gun-woo…”
“I didn’t like watching him touch you,” he continued, voice rougher now. “I didn’t like watching you look at him after he got hurt for you.”
Because beneath the jealousy, beneath the irritation and possessiveness, he sounded terrified. Like he genuinely thought he could lose you.
You reached for his hand carefully. Then, after seeing him welcome your touch without hesitation, your fingers slowly moved to the side of his face.
You fought the urge to smile from ear to ear.
And the moment his head leaned gently into your hand, something inside you gave out completely.
You pulled him toward you suddenly by the belt, and he immediately reciprocated, one of his hands gripping your waist while his mouth crashed against yours hard enough to steal your breath away.
The kiss felt desperate immediately. Like weeks of restraint finally collapsing all at once.
You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
A soft gasp escaped you against his lips while your fingers tangled into the fabric of his fitted grey shirt. Gun-woo backed you slowly against the kitchen counter without breaking the kiss once.
“I .. hated it,” he admitted shakily between kisses. “I hated watching someone else protect you.”
Your chest ached painfully, as you cupped his face gently and whispered back, “I only wanted you. I’ve always only wanted you.”
Gun-woo froze completely at the reassurance. Then his forehead dropped against yours while his breathing turned uneven.
“You can’t say things like that,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I already can’t think straight around you.”
Your stomach flipped violently at the confession before he kissed you again, slower and deeper this time.
One of his hands slid beneath your thigh before lifting you easily onto the counter, settling himself between your knees while your breathing completely fell apart.
The cabin remained awake outside the kitchen, only one wall separating you from the others. Voices echoed faintly through the hallway. Anybody could walk in.
That danger only made the tension worse.
Gun-woo pulled back briefly and stared softly into your eyes before gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“Tell me to stop.” You shook your head immediately, and that nearly destroyed him.
His lips trailed slowly down your neck afterward while your fingers disappeared through his soft hair. Every breath against your skin made your chest tighten harder.
Then movement appeared near the kitchen entrance. Min-jae.
Stopping mid-step after realizing what he walked into.
Gun-woo noticed immediately, and instead of pulling away, something possessive darkened in his eyes.
His hand tightened slightly against your thigh before he deliberately pulled you closer against him again, his mouth brushing slowly against your throat while his gaze locked directly onto Min-jae’s stunned face.
Clear enough for any man to understand.
She’s with me.
Min-jae looked away first and mumbled an awkward apology before disappearing quickly back down the hallway.
Your face burned instantly as you gently pushed Gun-woo away after hearing Min-jae’s hurried footsteps disappear.
“Gun-woo!”
But he only buried his face quietly into your neck afterward, both hands spread against the counter around you, exhaustion finally replacing the adrenaline.
And when he spoke again, his voice sounded almost shy beneath everything else.
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Ovulating heavily today and remembered how dohwan’s a moaner so, here you go!
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Kim Gun-woo x Reader (f)
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: themes of violence, injury, blood, captivity, emotional distress, trauma, grief, mentions of torture/coercion, heavy emotional dependence, explicit sexual content, soft dom!gunwoo energy if you squint, possessiveness, crying during intimacy, hurt/comfort, and emotionally wrecked people using each other as home.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k-ish
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After being used as bait by Baek-jeong, you watch Gun-woo nearly destroy himself trying to save you. What follows is one long night of grief, relief, exhaustion, and two people clinging to each other after almost losing everything.
Enjoy!
————————————————————————
Blood still stained the concrete by the time the police stormed in. The smell of sweat and rust clung heavily to the air while shouting echoed through the abandoned underground. Somewhere behind the officers, Woo-jin and Mr. Moon pushed through the chaos frantically, searching.
Searching for you. For Gun-woo.
The ropes around your wrists were finally cut by one of the policemen, but the moment freedom hit your body again, you stumbled forward immediately.
“Gun-woo-“ Your voice cracked violently.
He was still on the floor. Blood splattered across his body, his shoulder twisted unnaturally, bruises darkening across his ribs and sides. His chest rose faintly beneath the dim underground ring lights, but barely.
You had screamed yourself hoarse earlier begging him to stop fighting. To stop getting hit. To stop throwing himself back at Baek jeong over and over again.
But knowing Gun-woo, there had never been another outcome. Not when it came to you.
You collapsed beside him instantly, your shaking hands cradling his face carefully.
“Gun-woo… Gun-woo, wake up…please” No response.
Your fingers trembled through his damp hair before you pulled his head into your lap, tears falling uncontrollably onto his face as you hugged him tightly.
The entire weight of the world felt like it had collapsed directly onto your chest. And for one horrible second, you genuinely thought he died saving you.
—
The next morning smelled like antiseptic and exhaustion. Gun-woo woke slowly, pain spreading through his shoulder the moment he tried to move.
A quiet wince escaped him. Then he noticed you. Curled beside the hospital bed, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, dried blood staining the fabric. One of your hands remained tangled tightly with his while your head rested next to both your joined hands at the edge of the mattress. You refused to leave him.
Even in sleep, your brows still looked tense. Gun-woo stared quietly for a long moment before gently brushing his fingers through your hair. The slight movement from him woke you almost instantly as your head shot upward.
The relief that crossed your face the moment you realized he was awake nearly broke him.
“Oh my God…” Your voice came out fragile and wrecked.
“Easy,” he murmured softly.
But the moment your eyes landed on the bruising across his body and the sling supporting his injured shoulder, your expression crumbled all over again.
“I’m so sorry my love… This is my fault,” you whispered shakily. “You got hurt because of me.”
Gun-woo frowned immediately. “No.”
“They used me to get to you-“
“And they would’ve found another way if it wasn’t you,” he cut in quietly. “Baek jeong was going to drag me there no matter what.”
Tears welled up in your eyes again, and Gun-woo hated seeing that. “He crossed a line,” he continued, voice rougher now. “Using you like that…”
His jaw tightened painfully. “I’d do it again.” You stared at him. “Over and over again.”
The room fell quiet afterward except for your quiet breathing. Then suddenly you broke completely.
Gun-woo barely had time to react before you buried yourself carefully against your still locked hands, sobbing quietly.
Despite the pain shooting through his body, he wrapped one arm around you immediately. And for the first time since the warehouse, Gun-woo cried too, and you felt every tremble in his breathing.
—
“I hate hospitals.”
Woo-jin looked up sharply from his chair across the room. “You literally just woke up.”
Gun-woo ignored him entirely. “They’re suffocating.”
“You got half your bones rearranged yesterday,” Woo-jin deadpanned.
“And your shoulder is severely strained,” you added instantly. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m fine.” Gun woo whined, earning a scoff from Woo-jin.
“You passed out.”
“I’m awake now.”
Woo-jin stared at him in disbelief. “This idiot…”
Eventually, after enough arguing and one exhausted doctor explaining that Gun-woo could leave under strict conditions, no excessive movement, proper rest, medication, and minimal strain on the shoulder, the decision was made.
Mostly because Gun-woo was impossibly stubborn. And because none of you could safely return home anymore nor stay publicly here.
Baek jeong and his men were still out there. And now they knew exactly how important you were to Gun-woo, which painted a target directly onto your back.
—
By evening, Woo-jin dropped both of you off at Min Beom’s hotel far from the city center and lurking eyes. Rain tapped softly against the windows while he stood outside the room awkwardly.
“I’ll be with Mr. Moon tonight looking through more intel,” he explained. “Call me if anything happens.”
Then his eyes narrowed toward Gun-woo , “And you, don’t move.” Gun-woo looked offended immediately as Woo-jin scoffed, “I’m serious.”
After enough reassurances from Gun-woo that he’d stay in bed and rest properly, Woo-jin finally left. The silence afterward felt strange and heavy.
You stood there for a moment before quietly deciding to shower. You felt disgusting. Your skin still smelled faintly like blood and dust and fear. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Gun-woo getting hit helplessly in front of you again. The memory wouldn’t leave.
So beneath the hot water, you covered your mouth with your palm and cried silently all over again. You didn’t want him hearing you, you didn’t want him hurting himself trying to check on you.
By the time you finished showering, your eyes burned badly. You wrapped a towel around yourself before realizing with exhaustion that you forgot to bring fresh clothes into the bathroom.
Perfect.
After splashing cold water against your face repeatedly to reduce the puffiness and the redness around your eyes, you finally cracked the bathroom door open carefully.
The room was dim, only the television illuminated the darkness softly. Gun-woo rested against the bed’s headboard beneath half-drawn blankets, one extra pillow supporting his injured shoulder. His damp hair fell messily across his forehead while a random episode of Peaky Blinders played on screen. The blue TV light softened every sharp edge of him.
For a second, you just stared. He was alive. You stepped into the room quietly, and Gun-woo looked up immediately, lowering the volume once he noticed you.
“You okay baby?” he asked softly.
You nodded quickly before sitting at the edge of the bed with your back facing him “Mm.”
Your voice sounded hoarse. So instead of speaking more, you focused on rubbing cream gently over the bruises littering your legs from being dragged around by Baek jeong’s men.
Gun-woo watched silently. “Baby.”
The word came out quieter and gentler than usual. His hand rested lightly against your shoulder before slowly turning you toward him, and the moment your eyes met his again, your lips trembled.
The image of him lying unconscious on that warehouse floor hit you all over again. But Gun-woo looked just as wrecked, like he was barely holding himself together too.
So before either of you could say another word, he pulled you carefully into him and kissed you, softly at first, desperately after.
Tears slipped slowly down both your faces during the kiss, neither of you bothering to hide them anymore. Gun-woo pulled back only enough to wipe beneath your eyes carefully before pressing shaky kisses against your cheeks.
You cupped his face gently and kissed both his eyes, earning the smallest broken sound from him. Then he kissed you again, longer and needier this time, like he was trying to reassure himself you were really here. You survived, and he survived too.
The kiss gradually deepened, growing heavier with every shaky breath shared between you. Gun-woo carefully repositioned you until you were straddling his lap, his back still resting against the headboard while his good hand stayed firmly around your waist, almost afraid you’d disappear if he loosened his grip.
Then he pulled back for a second, just to look at you. The soft blue glow from the television illuminated your face gently, catching against your damp skin and swollen lips, and in that moment, Gun-woo genuinely thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He missed you so much it physically hurt him more than any punches he had received. Even after only almost losing you for one night.
His eyes searched yours carefully, silently asking for permission, for reassurance that you wanted this too. You nodded hazily, still dazed from his kisses, before pulling yourself back into him impatiently. That was all the confirmation he needed.
Gun-woo kissed you again immediately, deeper this time, desperate and hungry in a way that made your chest tighten.
Then reality hit you again. You pulled back slightly, your hand brushing carefully against his injured shoulder.
“But… you’re hurt-”
“I don’t care,” he cut you off instantly, voice low and wrecked with emotion before kissing you again like he couldn’t stand another second away from you.
Between messy kisses and uneven breathing, his lips slowly trailed from your mouth down your neck, leaving slow lingering kisses against your skin while your fingers disappeared softly through his damp hair.
Carefully, with your help, his white shirt and grey sweatpants were discarded somewhere onto the hotel floor, your towel following soon after, as the room grew warmer quickly.
He touched you like he was trying to memorize you, like reassurance, and like relief.
Soft sounds escaped both of you as his hand explored your body slowly, squeezing gently at your waist, your breast, your thighs, pulling quiet trembling breaths from your lips every time his fingers brushed somewhere sensitive.
The moment you finally sank fully against him, another broken moan escaped Gun-woo’s throat. His head fell back against the bed slightly, eyes squeezing shut as his breathing grew heavier. You immediately buried your face shyly into his neck, trying to swallow your moan yourself.
And despite everything, despite the bruises covering his body, despite the shoulder injury, despite the exhaustion still weighing down both of you, he still held you securely against him with one arm like it was instinct. Protecting you was built into him.
Your chest tightened painfully at the realization. He almost died for you yesterday, and somehow he was still here touching you this gently.
You began moving against him slowly, your pace messy and desperate from emotion more than confidence, and Gun-woo completely lost himself in it. One of his hands tangled tightly into your still damp hair while his forehead pressed against your shoulder.
“Baby…” he breathed shakily against your skin. The sound alone nearly sent you over the edge.
Your movements became quicker, more uneven, and when you bit softly against the side of his neck, Gun-woo suddenly froze beneath you with a broken gasp.
Then both of you collapsed into each other afterward, breathing hard as the tension finally shattered into something warm and overwhelming. For the first time in a while, neither of you were scared.
Gun-woo’s chest rose and fell heavily beneath you while your body remained sprawled softly against his. After a long moment, his hand began moving gently up and down your bare back soothingly. Then he pressed a tired kiss against your forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered quietly. Your eyes burned instantly again.
Gun-woo rested his forehead against yours, exhausted but sincere in a way that made your chest ache.
“And if anyone ever tries hurting you again…” His arm tightened around you slightly.
“I’ll kill them before they get close enough to touch you.”
ongoing kim gun-woo x reader series with continuous chapters ♡
genres/tropes:
action, thriller, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst, emotional tension, explicit romance, jealousy, found family, forced proximity, yearning, humor, psychological themes, violence, crime, and comfort.
this fic follows a mix of canon and original plotlines from Bloodhounds, so some characters and events may be altered or expanded for the story.
also a small warning moving forward: this story will eventually contain mature themes and explicit sexual content later on, so if that is not something you’re comfortable reading, please skip accordingly.
updates will hopefully be around 2–3 times a week depending on my schedule!
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The following days settled into something strange. Not peace, exactly. Nothing about Mr. Choi’s mansion felt peaceful anymore, not after Kim Myeong-gil’s men had taken over the safe house, swept through the hidden money, and forced everyone under one roof.
But it became routine: shared hallways, shared meals, shared silence, and assigned rooms behind closed doors. And, for Gun-woo, the unfortunate reality of your presence becoming harder and harder to ignore.
The mansion gym was wide and cold, filled with the dull echo of boxing gloves hitting leather and the sharp rhythm of shoes dragging against the floor. Gun-woo stood inside the ring with Woo-jin circling him, both of them drenched in sweat, both supposed to be focused.
From farther across the gym, you trained alone near the machines, headphones covering your ears, entirely disconnected from whatever was happening around you.
You moved from one machine to another with slow, controlled focus before reaching the metal pull-up bar, gripping it above your head and lifting yourself with irritating ease. A bubblegum bubble grew lazily between your lips before popping softly.
Gun-woo’s eyes drifted just for a second, which was more than enough.
Woo-jin’s glove slammed into his jaw.
Gun-woo stumbled hard, lost his footing, and fell back against the mat with a low grunt, making Woo-jin freeze, before he crouched above him, breathing hard, his brows pulled together in disbelief.
“Ya. What is the matter with you?” Gun-woo wiped the sweat from his jaw and shook his head, trying to sit up.
Woo-jin pushed him back down with one glove. “You’re almost drilling holes into her with your eyes.”
Gun-woo’s face tightened immediately. “I’m not.”
Woo-jin slowly turned his head toward you. You were still hanging from the bar, completely unbothered, bubblegum between your lips again, looking like the world had failed to interest you.
Woo-jin looked back at him. “Are you interested in her, man? I get you honestly. She’s pretty, confident, strong-”
“More like I can’t stand her presence around,” Gun-woo cut him off, sitting up properly this time. “She seems too full of herself.”
Woo-jin helped him stand anyway and passed him a water bottle. Gun-woo took it, wiping his face with the back of his wrist before drinking. “How does Mr. Choi even know someone like her?” he asked, trying to sound less interested than he was.
Woo-jin’s expression shifted slightly. “Apparently it goes way back.”
Gun-woo looked at him. That was enough encouragement for Woo-jin.
He leaned against the ropes of the boxing ring, already enjoying the fact that he knew something Gun-woo didn’t.
“Hwang Yang-jung hyung told me a few things.”
Gun-woo frowned. “When?”
“The night she joined us,” Woo-jin said. “You left early, remember? Said you wanted to sleep because of training the next day.”
Gun-woo did remember. After the warehouse incident, after seeing your face again in Mr. Choi’s basement, after realizing you were not some random stranger but someone Mr. Choi trusted enough to bring into the house, Gun-woo had decided he was done for the night. He excused himself before the drinking started, before the stories, before people got too honest. And for the next few days, he avoided you like you were a problem he could solve by walking out of every room you entered.
If you entered the kitchen, he left. If you sat in the living room, he suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to be. One time, all you had done was open your mouth to ask where the plates were kept, and Gun-woo had moved out of the kitchen so fast you actually stood there for a second, confused, staring after him like he had lost his mind.
Which, honestly, he might have.
“Yeah?” Gun-woo pushed, sitting on the edge of the boxing ring now. “What did he say?”
Woo-jin sat beside him and lowered his voice a little. “Buckle up. Technically, they raised her since she had soft skin. Her father and Mr. Choi were partners. Close partners. Best friends, almost. This was back when Mr. Choi was still working in finance and lending before everything became… this.”
Gun-woo’s face changed slightly as Woo-jin continued.
“Her father was killed by Myeong-gil’s men during the same incident where Mr. Choi got injured. After that, Mr. Choi took her in.”
The gym noise suddenly felt farther away. Gun-woo’s eyes moved toward the glass doors leading out to the garden. You had gone outside now, continuing your cardio under the bright morning light, your figure moving steadily past the windows.
“Her mother?” Gun-woo asked quietly.
“Gone,” Woo-jin said. “Long gone. Nobody knows where she is. Apparently, she disappeared even before her father died.” Gun-woo stayed silent.
“So it was only her,” Woo-jin continued. “She lived with Mr. Choi, Yang-jung hyung, and Lee Doo-young hyung through most of her childhood. Then when she became a teenager, Mr. Choi sent her abroad to Spain. He sensed Myeong-gil’s people moving around again and got worried.”
Gun-woo’s expression softened before he could stop it. He looked toward the garden again. You didn’t look like someone who had been protected. You looked like someone who had learned early that protection was temporary.
“Damn,” Woo-jin muttered, following his gaze. “From one father figure to three. And all badasses. No wonder she punches like that.”
Gun-woo glanced at him. Woo-jin shuddered at the memory.
A few days ago, he had tried sparring with you after provoking you for nearly fifteen minutes. It ended with him on the floor, both hands between his legs, regretting every decision that led him there. Safe to say, though, at least he was establishing some kind of friendship with you. Unlike someone.
“And best part?” Woo-jin added, standing up and pulling his shirt back over his head. “Her name isn’t even Écho. It’s a nickname.”
Gun-woo gave him a flat look. “Isn’t that obvious?”
Woo-jin frowned. “Is it?”
“Who the hell would be named Écho?”
“I don’t know,” Woo-jin said defensively. “I thought it was cool. Added to the whole mysterious persona.” Gun-woo stared at him.
“I don’t know her real name, though,” Woo-jin continued. “That old guy puked on me and passed out before he got to finish the story.” Gun-woo looked away, fiddling with the fabric wrapped around his hands, and Woo-jin patted his shoulder once.
“Now excuse me, sir. I have errands to run with Doo-young hyung before the meeting today.” He started walking backward toward the exit, pointing at Gun-woo.
“You, though? Get back to training. You were lanky today.” Gun-woo scoffed as Woo-jin left the gym. He stood again and started shadowboxing, his fists cutting through the air with more force than necessary.
Still, his eyes drifted once more. Outside, you greeted Woo-jin near the garden path. He said something that made you laugh, and the two of you walked side by side until you disappeared from Gun-woo’s line of sight.
His fist paused midair. Then he hit harder.
—
The meeting later that noon ran smoothly. Mr. Choi’s driver had brought in new intel about one of Myeong-gil’s hidden gold storage routes, along with a possible location where part of it was being moved. Everyone gathered quickly around the table, spreading maps, photographs, and handwritten notes across the surface.
The plan was to confirm whether the information was real, track the movement, avoid unnecessary confrontation, a move only when certain. But simple plans had a way of rotting from the inside.
Mr. Choi stood near the head of the table, calm as always, but you knew him too well.
He was worried. He had been worried since the safe house fell. Since Myeong-gil’s men had taken what was hidden there and forced everyone back into this mansion, pretending it was safer because the walls were higher and the doors were heavier.
Between him and himself, Mr. Choi knew danger was rising. He just didn’t want the boys to see it. He didn’t want his men to see it either. But you saw it.
You had heard it first through the phone, before you even returned to Seoul. His voice had been gentle that day. Too gentle. The kind of gentle people used when they were trying to make bad news sound ordinary.
Everything is fine, he had told you. Everything is under control. You knew immediately that it wasn’t.
He had mentioned the two boys staying with him, Gun-woo and Woo-jin. He had mentioned Yang-jung and Doo-young. He had even tried to laugh a little, like the situation was manageable, like he wasn’t calling you from a house slowly becoming surrounded by ghosts. But the call felt too much like goodbye, and you hated that. You hated it so much that you begged him to send you a ticket home.
At first, he refused, then hesitated, then finally gave in, and you took the first flight the next morning, not because Seoul was safe, but because Spain had stopped feeling survivable.
You had been dreading life there for months by then, maybe longer. Hiding between friends’ apartments, sleeping on couches, borrowing money you hated borrowing, changing routes every few days like the city itself had teeth. Which was funny, in the cruelest way.
You had finished your postgraduate studies at the top of your class. You had built yourself into something sharp, educated, useful, and still, one person had managed to make you feel like a trapped animal.
You never said his name anymore, not out loud. Names had power when spoken. His especially. He had left pieces of himself everywhere. In the way you checked locks twice. In the way unknown numbers made your stomach tighten. In the way you couldn’t sit with your back to a door. In the way kindness, if given too suddenly, felt like a trap.
So when the plane landed in Seoul, you expected relief. Instead, the feeling of being watched returned before you even left the airport. If anything, it intensified.
You didn’t go to Mr. Choi right away. You were too afraid the danger had followed you home.
So you lied.
You told him you were staying with a friend for a few days because her parents insisted on having you over. In reality, you stayed wherever you could while trying to understand Seoul again. Trying to map its corners, its routes, its hiding places. And quietly, you started collecting intel on Myeong-gil. Not perfectly nor cleanly, just enough to know if Mr. Choi was hiding something from you.
A few hacking tricks you had learned overseas. A few contacts you still had. A few locked doors that opened if you knew where to press. That was how you found the warehouse, your first mission back in Seoul had not been about Myeong-gil only. It had been about the other shadow moving behind him.
The one tied to Europe. The one you thought you had outrun.
There had been one man present that night, someone crucial to both sides. A thread between Myeong-gil’s world and the one you had crawled out of.
You wanted to cut that thread before it reached Mr. Choi. Before it reached this house. Before it reached you again.
So, without telling anyone, you went to Lee Doo-young’s hidden storage compartment in an abandoned street, took one of his sniper rifles, and collected every bit of courage the last few years had beaten into you.
You didn’t know Gun-woo would be there. You didn’t know Woo-jin would be there either. You only knew one thing.
If danger had followed you back to Seoul, you needed to kill it before it learned where home was.
-
“Écho,” Hong Woo-jin called once from across the table. No response.
Woo-jin blinked. Then leaned farther back in his chair dramatically. “Eeeechooo.”
A few people around the table glanced up in amusement while you remained completely zoned out somewhere far from the basement walls surrounding you.
Woo-jin frowned harder now before cupping his hands around his mouth theatrically. “Echo. Echo. Echo. Echo.” Each repetition got louder and more exaggerated than the last, like he was genuinely trying to hear an echo bounce back from the room.
That finally dragged you back to reality. Woo-jin’s voice pulled at your concentration repeatedly as he waved one hand dramatically in front of your face from across the table.
Everyone had been waiting for your input for the past thirty seconds. You blinked once, then twice.
The meeting room slowly came back into focus around you: scattered maps, half-empty coffee cups, photographs spread beneath dim lighting, and the low hum of overlapping voices filling the mansion basement.
Your thoughts had drifted too far again. Back to Europe, the warehouse, and to the realization that you failed. You failed to cut the thread before it followed you back to Seoul.
And now, with this mission connected once again to hidden gold routes and overseas movement, a sick feeling curled inside your stomach.
What if he already had a hand in this too? What if you were already too late?
Woo-jin leaned back dramatically in his chair. “She’s gone,” he announced to the room. “Mentally evacuated.”
A few quiet chuckles spread around the table. Mr. Choi only smiled softly at you instead, tired, gentle, knowing. “Do you have any suggestions?” he asked calmly. “Considering your background.”
You straightened slightly in your chair, forcing your focus back into the room and the scattered material. Your fingers tapped lightly against the table before pointing toward one of the marked areas. “The stash itself is probably here,” you spoke finally. “But if this information is real, they’ll definitely have surveillance surrounding the route before the actual location.”
Everyone’s attention shifted fully toward you now. You continued. “If we move in too heavily, they’ll relocate everything before we confirm it exists.”
Mr. Choi nodded slowly. “And your solution?” Your eyes flickered briefly toward Gun-woo.
For some reason, the moment his attention met yours directly, your chest tightened slightly. Those silent stares of his unsettled you.
Not because they were cruel. Because they were observant and difficult to read.
They reminded you too much of someone else. You swallowed the thought immediately.
He doesn’t know you, you reminded yourself. He doesn’t know your past, and hopefully, he never will.
Thankfully, Gun-woo had spent the last few days avoiding you almost professionally. You noticed every single time.
“I think Gun-woo and I should verify the stash location directly,” you continued, keeping your tone level. “Woo-jin, Yang-jung hyung, and the others can stay outside the perimeter and create a distraction if things go wrong. That’ll give us enough time to move the gold out before backup arrives.” Silence settled briefly around the table. Then, unexpectedly
“I agree.” Your eyes snapped toward Gun-woo instantly.
That was the first time he had agreed with you this quickly since you arrived. He remained leaned back in his chair casually, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Still, something about it caught you off guard.
Mr. Choi looked between the two of you quietly before nodding. “Then it’s settled.”
The mission was scheduled for dawn, before sunrise. One by one, everyone slowly dispersed afterward, conversations fading throughout the mansion halls as the night deepened.
—
Later that night, the house had finally fallen quiet. Most lights were off by now. Only the kitchen remained dimly lit beneath the warm yellow glow above the counter.
Gun-woo entered silently, reaching for a bottle of water from the fridge before stopping mid-step. You sat on top of the kitchen counter in oversized clothes, one leg crossed loosely over the other while your laptop screen illuminated your face faintly in the dark.
You hadn’t noticed him yet. Your eyes moved quickly across the screen that displayed numbers, transaction logs, maps, and European accounts.
Then Gun-woo noticed something else, a symbol. Something tied to the warehouse photographs from earlier. His brows pulled together slightly. “What’s that?”
Your body froze almost imperceptibly. For the first time since meeting you, your reaction wasn’t calm. It was fear, and Gun-woo was quick to notice.
Your laptop shut immediately as the sound echoed softly through the kitchen, and he stared at you. You looked away first.
“You should sleep early,” you said quietly, your voice smoother now, controlled again. “If you want to survive tomorrow.”
Ahh, deflection.
Gun-woo stayed silent for a second longer. Something underneath all of this suddenly became clear to him. You weren’t just mysterious. You were hiding something. You are scared.
And somehow, that unsettled him far more than the possibility of you being dangerous ever did.
