f a n g f e i

smut warnings ; explicit sexual content, rough sex, enemies to lovers, hate sex vibes, adrenaline-fueled hookup, semi-public sex (kitchen), dirty talk, teasing, light dominance, mutual power struggle, biting, possessive behavior, unprotected sex, creampie implication, multiple orgasms, intense physical intimacy, post-fight hookup energy. 18+ only. minors do not interact.

your apartment is dark when you slip inside, lights left off, shoes arranged neatly under the entryway table. the place smells faintly like gun oil and detergent. the usual hum of your appliances ring in your ears.

everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.

yet something’s not right.

without second guessing, you chamber a round into your handgun quietly, feeling the weight settle into your palm. your heartbeat slows, stretches out. you take one deep breath. maybe a bit too loudly, because seconds later:

footsteps.

they’re measured. surprisingly deliberate. the tread of someone who knows how to move without announcing themselves. the sound comes from the hall first, then the soft click of the lock, defeated in seconds.

interesting.

you don’t move. you don’t breathe.

you track him by sound alone: the faint brush of fabric, the pause at the threshold, the way he takes in the room. whoever he is, he’s careful. respectful, even. you’re almost tempted to smile.

you ghost toward the kitchen as he advances, timing your steps to his, staying just outside his line of sight. he’s close enough now that you can hear his breathing, controlled and steady. You hear the quiet shift of weight as he rounds the corner.

you raise your gun.

jungwon looks straight ahead, gun drawn as he turns the corner in search for you, his breath as quiet as his footsteps. the cool metal of your gun chills the bones of your fingers, your thumb pressed against the hammer. with one quick step, the muzzle of your gun presses against the back of his head, and you hear an uttered "shit" in front of you.

"put the gun down." you order. he puts his hands up, letting the gun slide down his finger, hanging on by the trigger guard. slowly, you step around him, gun merely an inch from his skin. you adjust your grip, staring into his eyes. "mind telling me what you're doing in my apartment?" you hiss.

"you wouldn't believe me if i told you i'm in the wrong place, would you?" he whispered, his eyes examining you closely, his tongue jutting out to wet his bottom lip. 

"do you think i'm stupid?" you scoff. "who hired you?" 

"i'm not at liberty to say."

you pull the hammer down on the gun, the click echoing in the quiet. 

"you're not gonna shoot me," he cooed, a smile on his lips. "don't you want answers?" you sigh. because you know he was right. you uncock the gun, keeping it close to his face. 

you hardly had time to blink before his hand flew up to your wrist, slamming your hand against the table beside you, drawing his own gun back to you, the muzzle pushed against your neck. 

"watch the hands, not the face." he husked, his lips curling into a twisted smirk.

your wrist burns where it’s pinned, the edge of the table biting into your bone. your gun clatters to the floor somewhere behind you. you register it distantly, unimportant now. his grip is iron, fingers locked tight around your wrist, your pulse hammering against his thumb. his breath ghosts your jaw, his voice low.

“nervous, are you?” he mutters, the words coming through his teeth.

you don’t answer him. you move quickly, your knee driving up hard between his legs. not enough to drop him, but enough to force a quiet groan of pain from his chest. his grip loosens for half a second. that’s all you need. you twist your wrist inward, using the table for leverage, slipping free as you pivot and shove him back.

he recovers fast. faster than you’d like him to.

your bodies collide again, this time in the narrow space between the counter and the wall. his shoulder slams into your chest, knocking the air out of you. the impact rattles through your bones. your back hits the cabinet, the contents clattering loudly.

“fuck,” you breathe.

his forearm comes up, pressing across your throat, pinning you without choking you. his face is close now, close enough that you can see the slight crease between his brows, and the small mole on his jawline. your eyes scan his face quickly.

“you’re good,” he murmurs, almost impressed.

you bare your teeth and elbow him in the ribs.

he grunts, the sound low and involuntary, but he doesn’t move away. instead, his free hand catches your wrist again, dragging it up, pinning both of your hands above your head against the cabinet. his knee slots between your thighs to keep you from pulling away.

too close.

your breathing stutters. you can feel the heat of him everywhere. chest to chest, thigh to thigh, the press of his muscle against yours. it’s all wrong. you shift your weight, trying to unbalance him. he anticipates it, adjusting instantly, grip tightening just enough to remind you who’s winning this battle.

“still think you have the upper hand?” he asks quietly.

you tilt your head, breathless. “you’re in my apartment.” you say through gritted teeth.

his eyes flick down, low. then back up. “so?”

he doesn’t get a chance to really ask what the hell that means before you move again, dragging him sideways, spinning him so your positions reverse. you grab a plate from behind him, smashing it against the counter beside his hip, holding one of the shards up against his throat. 

“so i have the upper hand.” you smirk. the shard trembles just slightly in your grip from the exertion. you’re not used to a real fight.

his throat jumps beneath the edge of the ceramic, a sharp inhale he doesn’t bother hiding. his hands freeze, hovering at your sides like he’s deciding whether to grab you again or let you win this time.

his eyes don’t leave yours.

slowly, he eases his knee back from between your thighs. the pressure doesn’t disappear completely, it’s just redistributed. close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him.

“creative,” he murmurs.

you drag the shard a fraction higher, enough to nick his skin. a thin line of red wells immediately.

“don’t move,” you say. your voice comes out steadier than you’d anticipated it to.

he huffs a breath through his nose. “you’re shaking.”

“you’re bleeding.”

his mouth curves, just barely. “occupational hazard.”

you press closer without meaning to, forearm braced against his chest as you crowd his space, using proximity the way you were trained to. the ceramic stays firm at his throat. your other hand is balled in his shirt, fingers curled tight.

for a beat, neither of you moves.

then he does something unexpected.

he relaxes.

not fully — he’s no idiot — but enough that the tension in his shoulders eases, his hands lowering slowly, palms open, nonthreatening. your instincts scream at you for it, for the vulnerability, for the bait.

“if i wanted you dead,” he says quietly, “you wouldn’t be standing.”

you scoff, though your chest tightens. “same goes for you.”

his gaze flicks to the shard again. then back to your face. “fair.”

you hesitate. just a breath. just long enough.

he takes it.

his hand snaps up, not for your wrist — for your elbow, knocking it outward just enough to break the line. the shard skitters across the counter, clattering to the floor. you lunge for him at the same time, momentum carrying you both sideways.

you hit the wall hard. he absorbs most of it, body turning to shield the impact, but it still knocks the breath from both of you. his forearm braces beside your head, blocking you in.

your hands are already moving, shoving at his chest, trying to slip under his arm. he catches one, twisting your wrist just enough to make you hiss.

“again with the hands,” he mutters, breath warm against your cheek.

you knee him — higher this time — and he grunts, real this time, grip loosening as he stumbles back half a step. you follow, not giving him space, shoulder-checking him into the counter, both of you scrambling for balance.

he grabs you around the waist, hauling you in as you try to break away, and for one disorienting second you’re chest to chest again, heart slamming against ribs, breaths colliding.

his voice drops, rougher now.

“we could do this all night.”

you look up at him, pulse roaring in your ears.

“or,” you say, low, dangerous, “you could tell me who sent you.”

his eyes search your face. he doesn’t answer.

instead, he tightens his grip. just enough to hold you still.

“never gonna happen,” he snarls.

your laugh comes out breathless, sharp. “then we’re both dying here.”

his eyes flash with amusement, and your blood boils.

you slam your palm into his throat, not hard enough to crush, but enough to make him flinch. the second his grip loosens, you twist out of his hold, ducking under his arm. your elbow catches his ribs on the way past. he grunts, turning with you fast, too fast, like he expected it.

you end up circling each other in the kitchen like predators, shoulders tight, weight on the balls of your feet. the counter behind you is littered with fragments of ceramic and spilled crumbs of some crappy stale cereal. 

he rolls his neck once, slow, like you’re warming up.

“you fight like you’re angry,” he says.

you scoff. “i am angry.”

“good,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to your hands again. “it makes you sloppy.”

you lunge at him.

he sidesteps cleanly, your shoulder clipping his chest instead of connecting properly, and he uses your momentum against you, his hand catching your upper arm, twisting you, turning you toward the counter. your hip hits the edge hard enough to bite. you hiss, trying to pull away, but he’s already behind you.

his body presses into your back for a split second, entirely flush against yours. then his arm snakes around your throat. his forearm locks across your collarbone, elbow tucked tight. his other hand clamps down around your wrist, yanking your arm behind you at a brutal angle until your spine arches.

you grit your teeth, breath coming in short, sharp pulls.

“tap,” he murmurs against your ear, voice low as smoke. “or this ends here.”

“go to hell,” you choke out.

his mouth curves, thoroughly entertained by your cruel words. you stomp your heel back, aiming for his foot. he shifts, avoids it, but it forces him to adjust his stance just enough, and you drop your weight. hard.

your body sinks suddenly, knees bending, center of gravity shifting, and you wrench your wrist the opposite direction. his grip slips. you throw your elbow back with everything you’ve got. it connects with his stomach, and jungwon’s breath punches out of him in a rough grunt. the arm around your throat loosens instinctively.

you spin.

your forearm drives into his chest, shoving him back a step. you follow immediately, hands fisting in his shirt, and slam him against the fridge with enough force to rattle the magnets.

this time, you don’t hesitate. you bring your knee up.

he catches it.

his hand clamps around your thigh mid-strike, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, stopping you cold. your pulse jolts at the contact. his grip is firm, deliberate, reminding you how easy it would be to break you if he really wanted to. you glare at him, breathing hard. he stares back like he’s savoring it.

“there you go,” he murmurs. “that’s better.”

“shut up,” you snap, and shove his shoulder.

he lets you.

for half a second, you’re confused – until he uses that exact second to reverse you again. his hand slides from your thigh to your waist, hauling you in and turning you, and suddenly you’re the one pinned, stomach pressed to the fridge, his hand flattening between your shoulder blades.

the metal is cold against your cheek.

his body cages yours from behind, close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your clothes. the contact is unmistakable. unavoidable. his thigh slots behind yours, locking your leg in place.

you try to twist away.

he tuts softly, shaking his head.

it makes your blood boil.

“don’t,” he murmurs, voice right at your ear. “you’ll hurt yourself.”

“i’ll hurt you,” you bite back.

“sure,” he says like he’s humoring a child.

you jerk your head back, aiming for his nose.

he anticipates it, shifting just enough that you miss. the movement makes you stumble forward. your palms slap against the fridge for balance. the second you’re braced, he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand.

one hand.

your breath catches. your pulse goes furious.

“fuck you,” you hiss.

his laughter is quiet, a warm exhale against your skin. “i’m trying to.”

the words hit your spine like electricity.

you freeze for half a beat. an involuntary pause, your brain short-circuiting on pure instinctive outrage. and he feels it. you can tell by the way his breath changes, the way his grip tightens just slightly.

“don’t,” you warn, voice low.

“don’t what?” he whispers, false innocence dripping from his voice. you flex your wrists, trying to slip his hold. he adjusts, fingers sliding, grip reforming without effort. it’s infuriating. and hot? you force your mind back into the fight. 

you suck in a breath, then slam your heel down hard on his foot.

this time, it lands.

jungwon swears sharply, grip loosening just enough.

you rip one hand free and swing.

your fist catches his jaw.

not full strength from the awkward angle, but enough to snap his head to the side. the sound is sickening; satisfying. his hand flies to his face, eyes flashing.

you spin around to face him, chest heaving.

“upper hand,” you breathe, voice shaking with adrenaline. “remember?”

he wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. there’s blood now: thin, bright. he stares at it for a second like he’d never seen his own blood before.

then his gaze lifts back to yours. dark, steady, and too calm.

“you’re getting cocky,” he says softly.

you lift your hands again, stance resetting. “you like it.”

his mouth twitches. “maybe i do.”

and then he moves. fast.

he closes the distance in one step, swatting your hands aside, driving into your space. you brace for impact, but instead of striking, he grabs you, both of his hands on your waist when he suddenly lifts you. your stomach drops.

your feet leave the ground for half a second before he slams you onto the counter, the miscellaneous items clattering to the floor, flying across the surface beside your hips. 

the breath tears from your lungs. your hands scramble for balance against the counter’s surface, your legs instinctively trying to hook around him as he crowds closer.

you both freeze when it happens, your knee brushing his hip.

his hands stay on your waist, fingers spread wide. his body slots between your thighs without fully touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

his eyes flick down, then up. your pulse stutters violently.

“still want answers?” he murmurs.

you swallow. “i want you out of my apartment.”

“not happening.”

you try to slide off the counter, and his hand snaps to your thigh, stopping you again, thumb pressing into the inside of your leg. it’s too intimate for a fight, and it makes your skin flare hot.

“jungwon,” you snap.

he tilts his head, eyes unreadable. “so you do know who i am.”

your stomach drops.

fuck.

his grip tightens. his other hand comes up, knuckles brushing your jaw as he forces your face toward him, gaze locked on yours. jungwon doesn’t even raise his voice. the kitchen feels smaller by the second, the fridge humming at your back, his body close enough that every breath you take brushes his.

“who are you,” jungwon asks quietly, “and why did they send me to kill you?”

you swallow, chest lifting against his. lying would be easy. instinctive. but something in his eyes makes it feel pointless. you let out a quiet breath through your nose, the corner of your mouth lifting without humor.

“because you’re not supposed to survive this job,” you say.

his grip tightens, just a fraction. “answer the question.”

you don’t look away. “i’m the ghost.”

the word lands heavy between you. you watch it register — the pause in his breathing, the way his pupils widen, the way his jaw sets like he’s clenching down on something sharp. 

“that’s not funny,” he mutters.

“i’m not joking.”

his gaze drags over your face like he’s checking for cracks, for tells. he doesn’t find any. you can almost see the calculation ticking behind his eyes, the mental files flipping open. the myth. the assassin who doesn’t exist. the cleanup job no one ever sees.

“they don’t send the ghost,” he says quietly. “they send the ghost to erase mistakes.”

“or to test assets,” you reply. “apparently.”

his hand drops from your jaw, but only to slide to your waist again, fingers spreading there like he’s grounding himself. “you’re saying they put us in the same room on purpose.”

you nod once. “winner walks.”

jungwon exhales through his teeth, a sharp, angry sound. he turns his head just enough to glance around your apartment: the clean counters, the neat shoes by the door, the life you built to look ordinary. then his eyes snap back to you.

“so, you’re supposed to kill me.”

“yes,” you say. “and you?”

his mouth curves, humorless. “same.”

the silence that follows is thick. neither of you moves, but everything feels tight as a spring. his hands are still on you. yours are still balled in his shirt. 

“then this ends one way,” he says.

“no,” you counter. “it ends with one of us deciding not to.”

his eyes flick down to your mouth again, then back up. “that’s not how this works.”

“why not?”

something in his expression shifts, his irritation giving way to something darker. his hand slides from your waist to your arm, grip tightening.

“you don’t get to rewrite the rules,” he snaps.

you move at the same time, twisting out of his hold and driving your shoulder into his chest. he stumbles back a step, surprised more than hurt, and you don’t give him space. you shove him hard, sending him into the counter, glass rattling. he recovers instantly, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back into him, the two of you colliding again in a tangle of limbs and breath.

he hooks a leg behind yours, trying to unbalance you, and you slam your forearm into his collarbone in response. his teeth grit as he absorbs it, hands sliding to your hips to control your movement, to pin you. you knee him, hard, and he grunts, grip loosening just long enough for you to twist free and shove him again.

“stop,” he growls.

“make me,” you spit back.

he does, grabbing you and slamming you back against the fridge, forearm braced beside your head, body caging yours in. it’s too close. his breathing is heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours, heat radiating between your bodies.

“this is stupid,” he says, but his voice is rough, fraying at the edges.

“then let me go.”

he doesn’t.

instead, he stares at you, his gaze piercing through your skin. your pulse thunders. your hands come up to his chest without thinking, fingers curling into his shirt.

“jungwon,” you warn.

he snaps, plunging forward against you, capturing your lips with his.

the kiss is violent. messy. all teeth and heat and pent-up fury, his mouth crashing into yours. your head hits the fridge with a dull thud as he crowds closer, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. you gasp into his mouth, fingers digging into the back of his neck, biting back just as hard, just as angry.

you bite his lower lip, hard enough to draw a hiss from him, and he groans, the sound low and broken as he kisses you harder, and deeper. his thigh presses between yours, pinning you in place, his muscle pushing firmly against your clothed crotch. the contact sends a jolt straight through you, unwanted and undeniable.

you shove at his chest, breathless. “what the hell are you doing.”

his mouth drags from yours to your jaw, to the corner of your mouth again, like he can’t decide whether to kiss you or pull away. “ending it,” he mutters.

“this isn’t ending shit.”

“shut up,” he snaps, kissing you again, slower this time but no less intense, relishing in the taste of your lips. his hands slide up your sides, then stop, fingers flexing like he’s forcing himself not to go further.

you break the kiss with a sharp inhale, forehead pressing against his. both of you are breathing hard now, bodies still braced together, neither willing to give ground. you reach forward, snatching the knife out of his holster in his moment of weakness, throwing it across the room. 

“can’t risk it.” you rasp, pulling him back towards you, kissing him, your tongue slotting between his lips, the taste of his blood dancing on your tongue. his hands tighten at your waist possessively.

“tell me to stop,” he says quietly. 

you don’t. 

he lets out a shaky breath, the hot air warm against the shell of your ear. “that’s what i like to hear.” he snarked, leaning in and gently brushing his teeth against your earlobe, his hands dragging down to where your clunky belt sits at your hips. 

you push your hips forward, giving him easy access to pull the belt away. your eyes don’t leave his shoulders. you still don’t trust him. but the way his hands move so quickly makes any kind of protest die instantly. he tosses the belt aside, a metallic clatter filling the air as it hits something across the room. you can’t bring yourself to care.

he takes a small step back to watch as he tugs your pants down to your knees, watching intently as the smooth skin of your thighs exposes to him, a shaky breath escaping him. “damn, pretty girl.” he growls, immediately pushing the pads of his thumbs into the soft flesh of your thighs. 

“s’pretty..” he murmurs. you reach forward, hooking a finger into his belt loop, pulling him towards you. wordlessly, he undoes his own belt, letting it hang loosely around his hips. “sit,” he commands. you scoff, but you get up onto the countertop, the cool stone against your flank sending a chill through you. 

you watch as he pushes his pants and boxers down with one fell swoop, his cock springing free, the tip accented with a small bead of precum. his arms snake under your legs, forcefully pulling you to the very edge of the counter. his eyes lock onto where the fabric of your panties clings desperately to your skin, soaked through with your arousal. 

he breathes out a laugh, tutting at the sight. “did our fight get you all worked up?” he coos, pressing one finger against the drenched fabric, letting it dip into your fluttering hole. you buck your hips up at the small touch, dragging his finger up against your heat. “tsk, so needy,” he coos, wasting no time to push the fabric to the side, exposing your hot cunt to the cool air, watching as you suck air through your teeth. his lips part, and he lets a groan tumble past his lips. 

he pumps his hand along his dick, running his finger across the tip to slide the precum down his length. you hook your heels onto the countertop, preening your pussy to him while he pushes himself up onto the balls of his feet, giving himself an easier angle. the head of his cock pushes through the folds of your pussy, dragging your slick against your skin, watching as the swollen head of his dick disappears between your lips, prodding at your entrance teasingly. 

“think you’re ready for me?” he asks, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours. you nod, surprised by the intimacy of it all. he curses under his breath, muttering to himself, eyes flicking down to where your hips meet, watching as his cockhead pushes inside of you. your head falls back, a groan leaving you as your hole stretches around his bulbous tip, accommodating his size seamlessly. 

he bottoms out, the small patch of pubic hair above his dick brushing against your clit as your hips meet flush to his. you throb around him, your heartbeat pulsating through your gummy walls. “damn… you’re so fuckin’ wet…” his voice is low, breath hot against your ear as he rolls his hips against yours once, the head of his dick pushing firmly against your cervix. it feels like your organs are being pushed up further inside of you from the sheer length of him inside you.

a smirk tugs at his lips at the sound of your breath catching in your throat. “oh, did you like that?” he jeers quietly before rolling his hips again, pushing inside of you deliciously. your arms wrap around his neck, resting on his shoulders to pull him against you, his name tumbling from your lips at the feeling of him inside of you. 

he reaches up, pressing the heel of his palm against your lower abdomen, feeling the pressure of his own tip dragging inside of you, pushing deeply inside. your eyebrows knit together and a satisfied groan escapes you at the newfound feeling of fullness. “sssshit” you manage to say, your hips unintentionally bucking up, your clit chasing some stimulation. he notices immediately, and drags his hand down to your heat, his fingers rubbing agonizing circles into your clit. 

his hips pull back, snapping into you roughly. your fight earlier had turned you on way more than you’d like to admit, but it was obvious with the way that his cock kept sliding out of you, slipping up against your folds, bumping up against your clit, growls of frustration slipping from him. he slides his arms beneath your thighs, pulling your hips up against him, thrusting back into you, filling you out with ease once again.

the burning stretch of him fucking you open is addicting, your eyes fluttering open and closed, your bottom lip caught between your lips as you push your hips up a little more. you can feel every vein grinding hot and heavy inside of you. his fingers move against your clit with a practiced precision, setting off little fireworks in your mind as the knot in your stomach starts to form. your eyebrows knit together, and your voice reaches a higher pitch as more moans and whimpers escape you. 

“f–fuck, gonna cum, right there, please, fuck…” you plead, your mind going foggy from the overwhelming pleasure. you reach forward, grabbing onto the rough fabric of his sleeves, digging your fingers into the meat of his arm through his shirt, his pace unrelenting against the gummy spot inside of you. 

the building pressure in your gut feels like its getting hotter and hotter by the second while you hiss various curses, focusing in on the feeling of pleasure. all the words you wanted to say die in your throat the moment his thrusts become sloppy, and his head falls forward against your shoulder, his voice trailing off into a slew of whimpers and curses. 

“fuck, ‘s so good, feels so good,” he mutters, his thrusts becoming rabid as he chases his own high, the sound of your voice fueling him further.

“j–jungwon, i’m gonna–” he cuts you off.

“give it to me, c’mon.” he growls.

as if his words were permission, you instantly came undone, a broken cry tearing from your throat, your walls clamping down on him, sucking him in deeper. his fingers dig into your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, driving into you at a bruising pace before his hips stutter, coming to a halt as his hot, sticky seed spills inside of you, shooting deeply into your womb with no warning. you gasp at the newfound fullness, the delicious warmth of his cum lining your walls, painting you white inside out.

“oh, fuuuck,” he mouths at your neck, teeth scraping slightly against the skin at the nape of your neck, his muscles spasming with each rope of cum shot out of him into you. jungwon pants laboring breaths, his hand wrapping around your jaw, turning your head to his. he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth, your teeth clacking against his. 

he leans his forehead against yours, gently pulling his hips back from yours, wincing at the loss of warmth as each inch slowly leaves you. you let out a shaky breath, slowly letting your legs rest on the counter again while he gently tugs your pants back up for you, disregarding his cum dripping out of you.

you shift first.

it’s instinct, not thought, the way your hand slides off his shoulder and drifts toward the counter where your knife lies just out of reach. the metal glints faintly under the kitchen light, cold and familiar and steady in a way nothing else has been tonight.

jungwon catches the movement immediately.

his hand closes around your wrist before your fingers can curl around the grip, not rough this time, just firm enough to stop you. with his other hand, he nudges the knife farther away across the tile. it scrapes softly, an ugly sound in the quiet.

“don’t ruin it with that,” he says, voice low, still threaded with breath.

you look up at him, chest rising and falling hard, heat still lingering in your skin where his hands had been. “you know i’ve got a job to do,” you say, swallowing past the dryness in your throat. “a reputation to uphold.”

his mouth twitches, something like disbelief flashing across his face. “yeah,” he says. “so do i.” his thumb presses once against the inside of your wrist before he lets go. “but i don’t want you dead.”

the words hang heavy between you two.

you glance toward the far side of the kitchen where his knife rests near the baseboard, then back at him. the hum of the fridge fills the silence between you, the world outside your windows still moving like nothing’s changed.

“yeah,” you mutter, jaw tightening. “well, someone does.”

“yeah,” he replies.. “i don’t care.”

for a second, neither of you moves. you can still feel the shape of his hands on your waist, the ghost of his breath at your ear. 

“then we’re still at an impasse,” you say quietly.

jungwon studies you for a long moment, eyes sharp as though he’s weighing his decisions.

“maybe,” he says.

you bend first this time, retrieving your knife in one smooth motion. the weight settles into your palm like it always has, grounding, familiar. you check it out of habit, thumb brushing the slide, movements automatic.

he doesn’t stop you.

instead, jungwon crosses the kitchen and picks up his knife, rolling it once in his hand before settling it into a reverse grip. his shoulders loosen into something ready, something steady.

your eyes meet across the wrecked kitchen, broken ceramic underfoot, cabinet doors still slightly ajar from the impact earlier. weapons back in hand. bodies still humming with excitement. 

your grip tightens.

so does his.

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a/n ; WOAAAH okay this is a new vibe for me i admit... nd i apologize that "late january" ended up meaning ... the very last day of january.... i hope u enjoyed anyways! sorry if there's any mistakes :( i didn't proofread super thoroughly ;; ...

your apartment is dark when you slip inside, lights left off, shoes arranged neatly beneath the entryway table. the place smells faintly of gun oil and detergent, the familiar hum of the refrigerator and the distant city noise filling the silence. everything is exactly where it should be.

but something’s wrong.

you feel it before you can tell what it is, the subtle shift in the air, the instinctive prickle at the base of your spine. without second-guessing, you chamber a round quietly, the weight of the gun settling into your palm as your breathing slows. one deep inhale. one controlled exhale.

then you hear it.

footsteps.

measured. deliberate. the kind that doesn’t rush, doesn’t hesitate. it's the tread of someone who knows how to move through unfamiliar spaces comfortably. the sound comes from the hallway, followed by the soft, almost lazy click of the lock as it’s defeated in seconds.

interesting.

you don’t move. you don’t breathe. instead, you track him by sound alone, ghosting through your own apartment, timing your steps to his. he’s close enough now that you can hear his breathing. it's controlled, and steady, and you hear the quiet shift of his weight as he rounds the corner.

you raise your gun.

the muzzle presses to the back of his head before he can turn. he freezes, just for a fraction of a second, before letting out a quiet, almost amused, “shit.”

“put it down,” you order.

he does. slowly. his hands lift in surrender, the gun slipping from his grip to hang loosely by the trigger guard, like an afterthought. you step around him, keeping the barrel close, close enough that he can feel it ghosting over his skin.

that’s when he looks at you.

jungwon’s gaze locks onto yours without a flicker of panic, calm and assessing in a way that makes your stomach tighten. there’s a faint curve at his mouth — not quite a smile, but something close.

“mind telling me,” you hiss, “what you’re doing in my apartment?”

he tilts his head just slightly, eyes never leaving your face.

“you wouldn’t believe me,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. "try me."

🎐 i might be opening a taglist for this one ~ comment or submit an ask to be tagged in the final release! 🎐 reblogs + feedback always appreciated ♡ 🎐 requests open!

a/n: been rotting over knife concept pics SO BAD ask my girl lolliloopsy she's been dealing w me yapping abt jungwon like a madwoman. sooo i had to write something 😭 enjoy this very small teaser for a longer oneshot coming soon 🗡️!!!

heeseung sees pieces of you in everything he sees. in the flowers he spots on walks, in the lyrics of his songs, in the colors that he thinks look best on you. even before the two of you were dating, if you’d mentioned something to him, he’d start seeing it everywhere.

throughout the day, you get scattered messages about things he’s seen or done. “an engene mentioned your favorite book today. told me i should read it lol.”

“jay ordered from your favorite jjigaejip earlier, do you want me to bring some home?”

memorized your drink order.

“can i call you? i miss your voice.”

refers to you as his girl to everyone he’s allowed to tell

the kind of guy to ask to shower with you to “save water”…

lets you steal his hoodies but lowkey keeps track of which ones you’ve taken. “you still have the gray one, right?”

buys doubles of things you like without telling you, like snacks, skincare stuff, lip balm… so you “don’t run out.”

always sends you voice messages instead of texts when he’s tired. they’re rambling and soft and usually end with him forgetting what he was saying mid-sentence.

pulls you closer by the belt loop or the hem of your shirt.

he’s such a good kisser, too. hooks his hand behind your head and holds you close, his other hand on your waist to press his body flush against yours. you’ll pull away and he’ll whisper a quiet ‘not yet’ before pulling you in again.

kisses you slow when he’s holding back. deeper when he’s not. you can always tell the difference immediately.

kisses turn messy fast—open-mouthed, desperate, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp into him.

always eager to be around you, constantly wants to feel his hands on your body and listen to the sound of your breathing.| asks you to sit in his lap while he plays games, but he never keeps focus for long. he lets his hands wander when you’re sitting on him, fully clothed, rocking absentmindedly. he always abandons the game for you.

he’s so impatient… he’s really the type to push you against the wall of your front entrance and sink to his knees to have a taste of you before even taking off his shoes.

“be good for me ’nd let me feel you, please..” he’ll plead between heated kisses when you’re grinding on him, both of you fully clothed.

leaves marks in places only he gets to see

he’s the biggest tease ever. he’ll fuck your thighs for a couple minutes before even pushing inside of you just to watch you squirm.

“fuck, ’s so good… g’nna make you scream, pretty…”

🎐 reblogs + feedback always appreciated ♡ 🎐 requests open!