Turtle

You had visited him at his studio because you missed him. It had been days since you saw him, so you came bearing coffee and food. But as soon as you entered the building, the new recruit in his managing team gave you a dirty look.

You were his girlfriend for fucks sake!

"I wanted to smack her so bad, ohhh my-" you trail as he dips his fingers inside you to gather some wetness getting back to your clit again, rubbing it in faster more precise circles.

You gasp, squirming as he lazily sucks a hickey on your neck while making you see stars.

"So good joon fuck I love your fingers." He hums against your skin, squeezing your waist with his other hand resting against your back while his fingers tortured you back and forth from your climax.

"Did you eat something, love?" You nod, feeling the knot inside you, forming slowly and very gradually. His hands slow down his ministrations, and you whine as you feel your legs shake out of sensitivity.

"Joon-" you breathe out as he smiles proudly at the purple mark he gave you on your neck, marking you as his.

"What did you eat?" He asks with hooded eyes admiring the mark he left while you try to make phrases inside your dizzied head.

"I- some- ah fuck- I had a gimbap with my colleagues, mm-" You words stop with a hitch in your breath as he slides two fingers slowly inside you. You try holding his wrists, but then your hands end up clutching your hair because you feel so good.

"Colleagues, huh?" He says, curling the tip of his fingers slightly to tickle that spot.

"Oh shit right there!" Your head falls back as you feel that spot being rubbed in a way that makes your eyes roll.

"Was Mark there too?" You just gasp as his fingers rub your insides and his thumb rubs your clit from the outside. Your brain short circuiting at the amount of pleasure you're receiving.

You squirm in his hold as his other hand makes you stay still. His tongue licking around your earlobe while his fingers abused the little spongy spot inside you.

"I asked you something, love." his voice was so gentle yet firm, making your mind search for the question he asked. Your brain was too dizzy to think with his thick thighs underneath you along with the hard on he had, so you just moaned, clenching hard around his fingers.

He pulls his hand out and smacks your swollen cunt, shoving his fingers once again. Asking you again, silently.

Was he?

"I dont know, I dont know-" you repeat with a high-pitched whine, your voice echoing and bouncing against his studio walls. You're glad the studio was soundproof, or people might think Namjoon was killing someone in there.

He chuckles mocking your thoughtless face, "so dumb, my baby, look at you, my baby can't answer coz I fuck her open with my fingers huh? My perfect little cocksleeve." You clench hard as he makes you feel smaller by each syllable. You squirm in his hold, making him bite your skin underneath your ear.

"I'm close so close oh-so cl-so-" he chuckles as you babble dumbly, breathing heavily against your ears that it makes your mind wander to how hard he must be right now.

The moment your mind travels to his dick you miss it inside you, you want to feel him inside you, the stretch of his fingers making you miss the way his cock split you open 3 days ago.

3 fucking days.

You think you might die if you dont get fucked by him today.

Your eyes water as you feel your orgasm coming closer, his hard on pressing against the back of your thigh, making your mind swirl with dirty thoughts.

Your fucked out brain getting reminded of the way he pounds you against the mattress, the way he fucked you in his balcony 35 floor above the city. How he fucked you open with his cock in front of his mirror, fingers inside your mouth as he pumped himself dry inside you filling with his warm cum.

His warm cum. Oh god.

"Jesus, you're crushing my hand so hard." He says through his teeth as he feels your thighs tightening around his hand, your face buried in his chest.

He keeps you open to the cold air in the room while his warm fingers plunge deep inside you. Squelching so loudly you wanna hide of embarassment, but you're so close you think you'll go crazy.

When he fastens his pace, he pulls your legs apart by his other free hand, making you spread open for him on his lap. Your other leg now in his hold from under your knee, resting on the table in front of him.

"Oh god--" you breathe out as he picks up his pace, his stimulation on your clit and the spot inside you constant. You legs shake in his hold and your eyes start tearing up.

"Oh make me cum make me cum please? Please? Oh god please!" You mumble mindlessly, pleading him, requesting him, begging him to make you cum as he coos, his fingers never faltering. Your fingers clutch his hair desperately as you look into his eyes, begging, your eyebrows furrowed as he smiles almost mocking you.

Evil.

"Cum baby, cum whenever you want, make a mess, go on" he says, his breathe heaving in your ears. It's as if he had turned a switch inside you that made you arch your back in his hold. Your cunt squeezing around his fingers as your cum sprays all over his lap. He groans as he feels your walls pushing his fingers out, making him fill you up with his fingers again, making them squelch loudly.

He holds your hips chuckling darkly as you squirt all over his joggers, his fingers fucking you through your high but he needed more so he pulls his fingers out to rub your clit sloppily and you sob.

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you feel your teeth clash as you breathe hard against him. Your body vibrating and thrashing in his hold as he growls against your lips.

"Yeah, good girl," he groans against your lips as you gasp, twitching.

His tongue plunges inside your mouth, and you squeal against his lips, your lips not even moving as you just gasp. Your eyes roll back, your hand clutching onto his neck desperately as his fingers rub your folds, making sure you spill everything you have inside you.

"Thats it thats it, my perfect girl." He coos against your lips, you breathe heavily, tears flowing down your eyes.

You whine, holding his wrists out of oversensitivity, smiling, feeling light-headed.

He smiles looking at you and teases your clit, flicking his index against it. Your body twitches as he does so, just to laugh at how pathetically your body squirms in sensitivity.

"Tch-tch-tch" he mocks you, grinning as your head falls back, his hand cupping your pussy making your eyes roll back. He squeezes, massaging your folds to calm you down.

"You did so good, my baby." He kisses your forehead, caressing your hair. "You okay?" He asks, his voice calming and deep. You nod tiredly.

"Good," he kisses your cheek, "because you're gonna do that again, but on my dick this time," he says, kissing your cheek again, tenderly.

Well, fuck.

___________________________________________

clearing your throat, you pulled out a plastic bag from your purse.

"i came by to bring you some lunch." you told him, through your voice was shaky.

he took the bag from you and looked inside, smiling. "ramen. my favorite. thanks, babe."

he said as he set the food down on his desk before embracing you in a hug.

you hesitantly hugged him back, the pool between your legs making you uncomfortable.

you figured he caught on to your nervous energy as he pulled away, gazing at you with a confused look.

"what's wrong? you seem nervous." he says as he studies your face, trying to see if he can read your face.

you sigh, knowing damn well you're not leaving until you get what you want.

you turn towards the door, shutting it and locking it. "i didn't come here because i wanted to bring you lunch," you started, turning around to look at him.

he cocked a brow, tilting his head to the side. you walked towards him, putting your hands on his chest and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"i came because i'm horny and i want you to take care of me." you told him, nibbling on his earlobe.

you felt him shudder under your touch, feeling his hands snake around your waist. 

your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down and attaching your lips with his for a passionate kiss. 

the kiss soon turned heated, his hands trailing down to squeeze your ass as yours tug on the little hairs on the back of his neck. 

he groans into your mouth as you do so, the sound causing you to become even more wet. 

he kisses down your jawline, to your neck, sucking and biting on it, surely leaving marks. 

you moan out, tugging on his hair and shutting your eyes tightly.  you feel him smirk against your neck, loving the effect he has on you. 

he pulls back, turning towards his desk and throwing everything off it before turning around, picking you up, and placing you up on his desk. 

he stands in between your legs, running his hands up and down your thighs.

he slams his lips on yours, licking the bottom of your tongue, asking for entrance.

you obey, opening your mouth, his tongue immediately starting to explore every inch of your mouth. 

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and grinding against him. 

you moan into his mouth, running your hands up and down his chest. 

you pull back, both of you panting heavily. you look deep into his brown eye, seeing they are full with lust. 

he lifts your skirt up, chuckling lightly at the sight of your soaked panties. 

he runs his index finger up and down your clothed cunt at an agonizingly slow pace.  

you grind your bottom against his finger, hoping to feel more pleasure. 

he pulls his hand away from your clothed cunt, causing you to whine. 

"please," you whimper, getting wetter by the second. 

"so needy," he groans, starting to attack your chest with kisses. "if you want me so bad, beg." 

he dips his hand back down, only massaging your inner thighs, teasing you. 

"please. i need you. i want you inside of me, fucking me senseless. i need your big cock. please, junho." you beg, your voice shaky. 

he smirks, clearly happy with your response. he lifts your hips up, pulling your panties down and discarding them somewhere in the room. 

he dips his head down, licking his lips as he comes face to face with your core. he looks up at you, making eye contact, licking a stripe up your slip. 

you gasp out in satisfaction, maintaining eye contact with him. 

he then starts sucking on your clit violently, wasting no time in starting to devour you.

you moan out, throwing your head back, your hand going down and tugging on his hair, pushing him into your core.

series of moans and profanities escape your lips as he so pleasantly eats you out. 

continuously sucking on your clit, he inserts his index finger inside your wet core. 

he then starts pumping it in and out of you slowly, while still sucking harshly on your clit. 

he then adds two more fingers, picking up his pace. "oh, fuck!" you shout, immediately clamping your hand over your mouth as you remember where you are.

he hooks his fingers up, pumping in and out at an unbelievably fast pace. 

you throw your head back, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach starting to build. 

"you like that, baby?" his deep voice asks, looking up at you. you could only nod, knowing that if you open your mouth, you'd be too loud.

he admired you, loving the sight of you laying on his desk, legs spread wide open for him. 

not to mention, he loved hearing the sinful noises coming out of your mouth, the soft moans, the whimpers, the way his name rolls of your tongue as he finger fucks you. he loved knowing that he was the one making you feel this good. 

"i'm gonna," you started, but was cut off with a loud moan as his fingers hit your g-spot over and over again. 

he smirked, going faster, if humanly possible. "you gonna cum for me, baby? come on, cum all over my fingers like the dirty whore you are." he urged you in his deep voice that always gave you butterflies, before going back and sucking violently on your clit, while still finger-fucking you into oblivion. 

that was all it took to drive you over the edge. with a moan of his name, you felt the knot in your stomach explode. your legs shaking violently, your eyes roll to the back of your head as junho rides out your high. 

panting heavily, you finally calm down, trying to catch your breath. you look down, seeing junho's face and shirt soaked.

you were confused, until it clicked. you had squirted. you'd never done it before. feeling embarrassed, you jump up, taking your shirt off and lifting him up, starting to clean his face with the towel. 

"i'm so sorry," you repeated over and over, unaware of the smirk on his face.

he grabbed both of your wrists to stop you, looking into your eyes. 

"don't be sorry. that was so fucking hot." he breathed out, before smashing his lips onto yours again. 

you could taste yourself on his lips, and god, how you were turned on still was crazy.

you started un-buttoning his shirt, pulling it off him, before moving down his pats, but stopping.

you looked down, noticing the tent in his pants, and oh my, did it look painful. 

you smirked, putting your hand on his clothed croch, palming him. 

he groaned, biting his lip and shutting his eyes. "please, don't be a tease." he muttered.

you chuckled, unbuckling his pants, letting them fall just below his knees.

his cock sprang up, pre-cum leaking from the tip. you gripped his dick, swiping your thumb on the tip, spreading the cum round it.

he twitched, putting both hands behind you on the desk and gripping it. you then started slowly pumping it, not taking your eyes off of him. 

you decided to pick up the pace since he pleased you so well, your hand moving up and down his dick so fast it caught him off guard. 

"fuck," he breathed, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting into your hand. 

you chuckled lightly at the sight of your boyfriend like this. you loved hearing his little grunts and groans.

he grabbed your hand, stopping you. you looked at him with confusion written on your face. 

"i'd rather finish inside of you." he said, causing your eyes to widen, before you smirked, spreading your legs open as an invitation. 

he chuckled, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance. he slowly put his tip in, enjoying the feeling of your cunt stretch to take his size. 

you both gasped as he entered you, pushing his cock all the way in, pulling it out, then slamming it back in. 

"oh, god," you moaned out, throwing your head back. he smirked, starting to pick up his pace. 

you wrapped your arms around his neck tightly, as his hands gripped your thighs roughly. 

you always loved the way he fucked the shit out of you, pounding you until it was difficult to walk, even to the point where you were overstimulated. 

he loved when he overstimulated you, seeing how your legs shook violently always turned him on. .

one hand came up to your throat, lightly chocking you. your eyes were tightly shut, your mouth forming an "o" shape as he fucked you senseless.

"look at me while i fuck you." he grunted, lightly slapping you. you opened your eyes, looking into his beautiful brown ones. 

he laughed, picking up the pace. "such a pretty slut," he muttered, sweat dripping down his forehead.

all that was heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping skin, your moans and whimpers, his groans and grunts, and the series of profanities that kept slipping out of both you mouths. 

"fuck, y/n, your pussy feels so good against my cock." he says, followed by a groan. all you could do was moan in response, not having the ability to talk. 

you started to clench around him, and knowing that you were close, he picked up the pace, going faster and rougher. 

"you wanna cum?" he asked you, lowering one of his hands and making figure 8's with his thumb on your clit. 

the increase of pleasure caused you to yell out, rapidly nodding.

"come on. use your words, baby." he told you, smirking as he watched tears start pooling out of your eyes due to the max amount of pleasure. 

"yes, jun. please, let me cum." you begged, sounding oh so pathetic. 

"cum for me. cream my fucking cock." he encouraged you, continuing to pound into you at a rapid pace. 

with one last shout of his name you came undone around his cock, your whole body shaking.

he praised you as you came, muttering things like; "such a good girl," "you take my cock so well," and "what a good slut for me."

he didn't slow down, chasing his own high as he felt it grow nearer. 

you felt his cock twitch inside of you, signaling that he was about to cum. 

"you want me to cum inside you, you dirty slut?" he asked, biting his lip. you nodded, clenching around him.

"fuck!" he moaned as he came inside you, muttering your name and riding out his high.

he pulled out, both of you panting heavily. both of his hands were on either side of your thighs, trying to hold himself up. 

after a few moments, you both calmed down, looking into each others eyes and smiling. 

he leaned in and kissed you softly, something he always does when you guys finish. 

he handed you your shirt and your panties, both of you getting dressed.

you then helped him put all the stuff back on his desk, before sitting down and eating the lunch you brought in a comfortable silence. 

"so, why were you so horny?" he asked, before shoving some ramen in his mouth.

you felt your face heat up, feeling embarrassed. 

"well, uhm, you know how i always go back to bed after you leave for work?" you questioned him.

he nodded, motioning for you to continue. 

"well, when i did, i had a, uh, dream." you said, looking down in embarrassment. 

he smirked. "a dream, huh? so, that's why you were so horny?" 

you nodded, shoving ramen in your mouth. 

he set his food down, leaning back in his chair. 

"tell me about it."

——————————————————————————

taking a deep breath, the invigorating freshness of the air filled your lungs. without the chaos of toddlers pulling at your legs and the frantic shouts for lost items behind you, you set off southward toward the entrance of nam-ra’s eatery. the sound of your shoes scuffing against the cement echoed in the nearly deserted alley, when suddenly, you felt a tug on the delicate red string that was tied snugly around your pinky.

​

you halted, extending your right hand to inspect the delicate string that emerged from it, as it tightened once more, prompting you to step forward without realizing it. deep in your stomach, butterflies emerged from their cocoons and fluttered with nervous excitement. you’d heard the stories of others feeling the pull of their pinky fingers. of how they’d finally met the one with whom the universe had intertwined their fates. now it seemed it was your turn.

​

in your eagerness to follow the taut string, you lost sight of your errand, noticing how the slack diminished as you turned the corner and collided directly with someone's chest. a groan escaped you as the impact knocked the breath from your lungs, causing you to stagger back and nearly lose your footing. before you could even let out a sound, a hand grasped your forearm, halting your backward fall and leaving you momentarily suspended in the air.

​

with a sharp tug from the stranger, you’re upright in an instant, but not before you see the now, inches-long red thread that attaches itself to his pinky and back to yours. shocked, your hand raises to cover your adjacent mouth, and a shocked, “oh, my,” escapes your mouth before you close it.

​

the stranger responds with a grunt, releasing your arm from his grip and turning his head to silently observe you. he’s a handsome teenager around your age with sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes. the shock of seeing your soulmate for the first time is short-lived as he opens his mouth to bark, “are you going to thank me, or just gawk at me all night?”

​

you choke on air, as you try to recover, bowing profusely. “thank you,” you blurt breathlessly. the boy only exhales and begins to turn away. “wait!”

​

“what?” he snarks, turning back to you sharply, and again his tone takes you aback.

​

before you could lose your confidence, though, you offer a smile and say shyly, “i think we’re soulmates.” you point at the obvious bright red thread that passes between you two as though he might have missed it.

​

“and?” the boy asks, shrugging his shoulders, and begins to walk away again. rebuffed, you stand there dejected and in shock. it seemed that the world was playing a cruel joke on you, and the trees' laughter was practically echoing in your ears as you brushed the tears that had formed away from your eyes. you suddenly wished you hadn’t left your house as you watched red string, neatly tied to your pinky, begin to tighten again as the boy’s figure became smaller.

​

turning away, you miss the second glance he gives you, suddenly realizing the weight of his rejection in his hasty anger. now he was even more pissed off that the universe seemed to be against even his one promised source of happiness. in fact, he was shocked that he even had a soulmate. whenever the topic of them had been brought up among his peers, they’d all decided that he didn’t have, and he couldn’t help but agree. so, what was his red string doing, tightening and leading him directly into a strange girl like you? he didn’t understand.

​

the cruel joke about destiny continues when you are seated next to your soulmate on the first day of school. you learn his name is go kyung-jun, and he discovers what yours is. you clench your skirt in your fists as you stare at the board and try to ignore the firestorm next to you, glaring daggers in your general direction. you’re appreciative of being in class as a reason to avoid him, yet when he hands you a note questioning if you're now stalking him, your frustration intensifies.

​

carefully penning out your thoughts, you nod in triumph before turning and throwing the piece of paper at kyung-jun, satisfied when it hits the side of his face and falls onto his desk. you pick up your pencil and focus back on the board when you hear a scoff from beside you.

​

you quietly smile, glad your words irritated him. if he wanted to be an immature douche, then you could be, too. you hoped that was the end of your feud, and you could coexist, but it seems the cards were never in your favor, as your first friend you make, jang hyun-ho, is public enemy number one according to go kyung-jun.

​

you and hyun-ho were neighbors, and your mothers had agreed with each other that hyun-ho would walk with you to school every morning, and thus your friendship bloomed from there.

​

it was an odd pairing. hyun-ho was a type a— tall and talented, athletic kid, whose goals were to go professional and thus didn’t mess around too much. you, on the other hand, did not like walking, much less any sort of athletics, and were a bit of a carefree spirit who tried to see the fun in any sort of situation. your parents agreed that you helped balance one another out. being in the same class made an even easier excuse to spend your time together, and many school nights you’d find yourselves watching a movie after studying, even if you’d have to drag hyun-ho along every time.

​

eventually, you learned what made hyun-ho him, and he learned what made you, you. and thus, you told him your secret, about two years after you’d first learned it yourself. since that fateful night, you’d spoken only a handful of words to kyung-jun since your note shut him up back in middle school.

​

“no way. no actual way!” hyun-ho exclaims, his mouth falling open and eyebrows raising in pure disbelief at the news.

​

you grunt, taking another piece of the tangerine your mother had made the two of you. you nod, a deliberate tone in your voice when you lower your voice and hold out your pinky. “you have to promise not to tell anyone,” you tell him.

​

he shakes his head up and down, saying your name like it’s a promise in itself. “of course.”

​

you swallow the juicy fruit and point a stern finger at the taller boy, “i mean it. not even our mothers or your basketball besties, or i’ll tear your balls off and call you dickless hyun-ho the rest of your life.”

​

hyun-ho laughs heartily, throwing his head back. when he faces you again, his laughter is gone, and a somber look has overcome him.

​

“i was only kidding—” you start, nervous at the shift in the air.

​

hyun-ho just hangs his head. he sighs, “i am sorry, though, that kyung-jun is your soulmate, and clearly he must want nothing to do with you. could he be any more of a dick?”

​

you laugh, and proceed to disagree. “i think he could be more of one, to be honest. who knows why he decided what he did? he’s never tried to talk to me about it, but i also doubt he’s talked to anyone else about it either,” you ponder aloud before shaking your head of those thoughts. turning, you smile at hyun-ho, and hold out the remote. “anyway, not really my problem. now, which adam sandler movie should we watch? and if you say any one other than happy gilmore, you’re wrong.”

​

─────

by the time you entered your second year of high school, you’d mastered how to ignore kyung-jun’s presence, despite your teachers constantly placing you together in the seating arrangements as if they knew more than they let on. your homeroom teacher always said it was because kyung-jun appeared to behave better when you were next to him, but you didn't think that was correct either.

​

for the most part, it was a peaceful time at school. having shared your secret with hyun-ho, he seemed to avoid kyung-jun even more than before, and made sure you did as well. it was easy to do, seeing as hyun-ho was constantly hovering around you, chasing away the boy and his two friends to the abandoned parts of the school to let loose. that is, until hyun-ho came down with the flu for a week, and for the first time since moving, you had to endure the walk home alone.

​

it was raining after school, and the temperature was chilly on the heels of the shortening summer nights. you shivered as you opened your umbrella and began to carefully descend the slippery stone steps outside your school. you noticed most of the student body had stayed inside to self-study, but without hyun-ho, you weren’t sure you’d have the motivation to sit still and learn. you slipped out the school gates alone, set on an early day and a rare break from everything as you walked home.

​

as you proceeded down the dark alley, you could clearly hear sets of footsteps echoing behind you. not one to overthink things, you made every effort to ignore the people behind you, but as they accelerated, you paused and looked in the direction of what you couldn't see.

​

it was kim jin-ha and park seung-bin, go kyung-jun’s usual posse, with sarcastic smirks on their faces as you gaze back at them without humor. your eyes twitched, a crack appearing in your nonchalant facade, as you scoff and turn back to keep walking home. you feel a sharp pull from your backpack’s shoulders and stumble back a step at the sudden movement. whipping back around, your brows furrow as you yell at the duo. “yah!”

​

the two snicker as jin-ha asks you, “aren’t you that loser that keeps hyun-ho around for protection?”

​

before you can respond and refute the assertion, seung-bin lunges for your backpack once more, causing you to drop your umbrella to the ground and fall back again, this time striking the concrete alleyway walls. the rain bets down on your head, streaming down through your hair and into your eyes. 

​

“you got any money?” seung-bin smiles, still attached to your backpack strap as you struggle to keep it pressed behind your back. “aw, c’mon. you don’t want to go home with a black eye over some petty cash, do you?”

​

you wince internally at the threat, but jut your chin out in defiance nonetheless. “fuck off,” you tell them shortly, swatting away seung-bin’s hand from your backpack. the playful tone from the two boys slips away to something sinister as their faces morph into actual anger.

​

before you can react, one of the two slaps you across the face, causing you to gasp and clutch at your flaming cheek. you gaze, unsure, at the duo in front of you, but before they can make another grab at you, a voice booms out from the other end of the alleyway.

​

“what the fuck are you two doing?”​

as you turn your head, you are taken aback by the sight of a visibly angry kyung-jun striding toward the three of you, his expression cold and unyielding. instinctively, you find yourself backing away alongside seung-bin and jin-ha, feeling the weight of kyung-jun's presence as he towers over you, his piercing gaze shifting between each of you.

​

“kyung-jun,” jin-ha stutters, moving away from your shuddering form. “we just thought—”

​

“well, you thought wrong,” kyung-jun barks, forcing his way between yourself and your classmates, successfully moving you away from the wall. you shuffle along with the force, disarray pouring out of every pore. suddenly behind him, you tilt your head to watch the two being scolded from behind kyung-jun’s broad back. “who told you to fuck with my soulmate?”

​

the question is rhetorical, but based on the expressions on seung-bin and jin-ha’s faces, the statement was news to them. they seemed to have not been told that your red string was indeed attached to kyung-jun’s. flustered, you watched as jin-ha stutters out an excuse, “c’mon, kyung-jun, how could we know that dork is your—”

​

“i said: who told you to do that?” repeats kyung-jun, his voice chilly as the damp atmosphere clings to your skin. an unmistakable aura of authority radiates from the tall boy, enveloping the surrounding space. the tall boy. “now screw off.”

​

seung-bin nudges jin-ha and begins to apologize to kyung-jun, but upon realizing that he wasn’t joking, they retreat the way they came— back down the alley and onto the bustling city streets, traveling out from your sight. you shyly look up at kyung-jun, who has yet to face you.

​

before you can be scolded for not thanking him like the first time you met, you find yourself expressing your gratitude. “thank you, kyung-jun. i—”

​

“whatever,” comes the short reply, and you inhale sharply with irritation. huffing, you step aside him to pick up your overturned umbrella and shake out the excess water that had pooled. you begin to move around him, adding a small bow, before you turn the way you’d been walking. you stop when you feel a tug on your sleeve. “give me your number.”

​

startled, you gaze at him with uncertainty, eyes searching his for any sort of explanation. “what?”

“are you deaf?” kyung-jun rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, shoving it into your hands. “give me your number, so if anyone else messes with you, you’ll be able to ask me for help.”

​

you bite your lip, looking down at the cellphone. “i’m not helpless—”

​

you’re cut off by a loud groan from the male student, his hand coming up to rub his face in frustration. he says your name in irritation. “yah, just do it.”

finally, you obediently do as you're asked, typing in your digits before passing the phone back to kyung-jun. the two of you stare at each other a moment, rain-soaked and silent. then, the boy turns away and begins to walk away, and you do the same.

─────

the upcoming weekend was set aside for the annual year two school trips, and class three of yooil high school was eagerly anticipating the early saturday morning when the charter buses would arrive to transport the excited students. the last class period on the friday before was bursting with energy, students ignoring lessons and messing around, as the weekend and the class trip lay just beyond the school bell.

​

kyung-jun had continued his silence towards you, despite having your number, and you weren’t at all surprised. yet again, you found yourself wondering what you had done to deserve to have your red thread attached to the one beside you.

​

hyun-ho’s fingers drummed against the surface of your desk, a rapid staccato echoing the restless energy humming through him. his backpack was slumped beside him, half-unzipped, revealing crumbled worksheets and a dented water bottle. he leaned towards you, his voice dropping conspicuously.

​

“okay, listen,” hyun-ho tells from where he sits in front of you, having turned around to face you. “you’ve got to pack light, but smart. the retreat center is ancient, even though they just redid the interior. i heard the heating dies after midnight. layers. like thermal underwear under your hoodie. and extra socks. seriously.”

​

you laugh, finding his suggestions as ridiculous as him, but he’s already mentally ticking off his own packing list, and it contains every tip he’d just shared with you. you hear a scoff next to you, and you roll your eyes, your pretense of ignoring your soulmate faltering. hyun-ho’s jaw clicks as he clenches it.

​

“whatever, hyun-ho,” you tell him. “you’re just going to be off playing basketball all day anyway. i’m sure your body heat will be just fine with your thermal sleeping bag you’re bringing.” he’d already told you all about his most recent purchase, stressing how needed it was for your weekend retreat trip.

​

you hear a mocking chuckle beside you, and you turn your foot subtly underneath your desk to hit kyung-jun’s leg with the toe of your shoe. you don’t acknowledge the glare you receive in return, but when your phone vibrates, you reach into your bag to see who it is.

​

from unknown number: thermal underwear? seriously?

​

you frown down at your phone, but quickly realize it must be the annoying boy beside you who sent it.

​

to ass-hat: you know it’s rude to eavesdrop on people?

from ass-hat: even if it’s my soulmate, so, therefore it is my business?

​

you inhale sharply and kick kyung-jun again, this time harder than before. you smile at hyun-ho. “i’m hungry, let’s go get a snack from the vending machine before last class starts,” you tell him, standing from your desk and moving towards the classroom door.

​

you wanted to get as far as possible from kyung-jun at the moment. him bringing up your soulmate situation lately was making you uneasy, and you began to wonder if he needed a favor of some kind.

​

the next morning, you felt utterly exhausted, having been stirred from sleep by your cheerful and energetic neighbor, who brought you two cups of iced americanos. how he managed to find those so early was beyond you, but you were too sleepy to inquire and gratefully accepted them from the boy, appreciating your friend's kindness.

​

you cared for the two chilly cups of coffee while hyun-ho swung both of your bags over his shoulders as you headed down the sidewalk. the morning was dark and cool, and the street lanterns were the only source of light as you walked the few blocks to school.

​

when you entered the school’s front gates, you found you were far from the first to arrive here and far from the last, based on the stream of students that continued into the courtyard. you spotted your homeroom teacher and pointed him out to hyun-ho while he brought the luggage to where a few of your classmates had gathered. most were dressed in neutral tones that faded into the shadows, but mi-na’s oversized coat was a bright pastel pink, almost glowing in the lowlights.

​

hyun-ho placed your bag next to your feet, and you handed him his coffee, taking a sip of yours. you were grateful for the caffeine as it worked its way through your veins. you scanned the crowd and found that more than half of your class was already here, twenty minutes before the bus was scheduled to come. kyung-jun was not one of the ones gathered.

​

you shook your head and reminded yourself to forget about him, turning away from the school gate, and gripping your coat tighter to your torso.

​

“are you cold already?” hyun-ho laughs, and you turn to glare at him.

​

“i am not wearing thermal underwear,” you hiss, turning up your nose in displeasure.

​

“aw, why not? i think it’d look sexy on you.” kyung-jun’s voice is an unwelcome one, as he paces over to where you stand, his bag in hand, signature smirk wide across his face.

​

“do you have a death wish?” you ask harshly, taking a step forward before hyun-ho raises a hand to stop you. you turn your head and take another sip of your drink to keep from huffing at the boy. it was precisely four thirty in the morning— far too early for you to engage in a confrontation, let alone one with your soulmate.

​

luckily, the charter buses begin to fill the open courtyard, lining up behind each other. your homeroom teacher tells the crowd the assigned bus number. some of your classmates ran towards the bus, hoping for a seat in the back, but you and hyun-ho walked over slowly. he took hold of your luggage again as you took the drinks. having an athlete best friend wasn’t all too bad at times like these.

​

once situated, you pull out your earbuds, connecting them to your phone and offering the other end to hyun-ho. he declines the offer, and you shrug in return, putting them into your ears and leaning your head back against the window. you’d been warned previously that the drive was a long one, and you weren’t planning on being awake for most of it.

​

you close your eyes, but are startled by something soft hitting your face. opening your eyes, you find kyung-jun’s neck pillow in your lap. you look up as he’s passing you by, and he jeers at you, “better use this, dummy, or your neck will get twisted like a halmeoni.”

​

your lip curls in annoyance, and you mock the action of spitting at the boy. kyung-jun only shakes his head, hiding a smile, and continues down the aisle towards the back of the bus. hyun-ho turns to you with his eyebrows raised, and you sigh.

​

“remember that day you had the flu a couple of weeks ago…” you begin to explain your encounter with kyung-jun the other night, and how he had been talking about the soulmate aspect of your bond quite a bit more often.

​

hyun-ho disagrees, ever kyung-jun’s public enemy number one, and remarks to you, “maybe he thinks you’re his property or something. in fact, it’s just cruel that the universe lets him meet his soulmate so early in life, and he acts this way.”

​

you shook your head. “it’s how he’s always been. it’s not like the soulmate bond is so you can change them. it seems like there are things that the universe knows that we are not privy to,” you speculate.

​

hyun-ho gives you a snort and lightly pushes the pillow against the side of your head. “okay, just go to sleep, you lovesick fool.”

​

you reclaim the pillow from him with a playful pout, yet drape it around your neck and continue your quest for a nap. as you slowly fell into unconsciousness, you couldn't help but notice that the pillow smelled like kyung-jun—fresh and woody.

​

as you finally stirred awake, the sky had turned a deep shade of night, and the bus stood still, parked in the quiet. you stretched your arms, a yawn escaping your lips, and felt a moment of confusion as you lifted the pillow from your neck, only to be reminded of its comforting presence and the reason it had been there in the first place.

​

hyun-ho smiled at you, before you were interrupted by kyung-jun coming up the aisle with his arm extended. you hand the pillow over with a quiet, “thank you,” avoiding eye contact with the boy as he snorts, and moves along without a word. you and hyun-ho join the line and exit the bus one at a time.

​

outside, the darkness presses in, broken only by the distant pinpricks of starlight. you sigh in a breath of fresh air as kim jun-hee calls hyun-ho over to help unpack the student’s luggage from under the bus. you’re surprised to see that you're the only charter bus to have arrived, leaving behind your other classes. you frown, knowing that you were at least the second bus to leave the school, having followed behind class one’s.

​

you observe as hyun-ho effortlessly lifts the boxes that ahn na-hee had been struggling with, a playful smirk appearing on his face as he notices her blush, her hand nervously running through her hair. it was clear to you that na-hee had a crush on your friend. however, when you had inquired whether hyun-ho had found his soulmate yet, he had replied that he had not. finding your soulmate often takes time, and especially among the younger crowd, casual dating tends to be quite popular.

​

you follow the two inside, where a beautiful white, marble statue of a young girl sits upon a podium. when you get closer, you realize that instead of a description printed beneath the figurine, there is a qr code for the youth center’s wi-fi. pulling out your phone, you frown at the lack of service before scanning the code. you then join the rest of your class in the auditorium to await the rest of your schoolmates.

​

your homeroom teacher is nowhere to be found, probably trying to wi-fi call the other teachers' cellphones. with the lack of supervision, the rest of your classmates were doing whatever they felt like it. lee joo-young and her posse were practicing a team dance to a k-pop song. the band kids were playing instruments in the back. but most were helping unpack the supplies, and joking around with one another. you noticed park woo-ram, recording the scene with his camcorder as usual, and you quickly looked away when it panned over to your direction.

​

“yah, hyun-ho,” you poked his side from where he was having a conversation with his basketball teammate, kim dong-hyeon. “where do you think the other buses went?”

​

he shrugs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “who cares, more time for us to mess around, right, dong-hyeon?” your classmate agrees with a laugh. you frown at the two, pulling out your phone to see if your service had gotten better, or the wi-fi had connected yet.

​

upon unlocking your phone, you find yourself puzzled by a newly downloaded app featuring a striking red and black design labeled “mafia.” you recall that you must have installed it, likely as a result of the qr code you scanned earlier. with a slight shrug, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and redirect your attention to the lively discussion between the two boys, who are animatedly debating the details of the latest playoff game they just played.

​

you jump in surprise as the music suddenly stops, glancing over to find kyung-jun has switched off the loudspeaker. his action prompts an immediate outburst from the group of girls, who scold him with loud disapproval. you can’t help but bite your lip, stifling a smile at the sight of your classmate's irritation.

​

at times, you found yourself agreeing with your soulmate's perspective on his actions. for instance, his decision to confront woo-ram and jin da-beom for disseminating deep fake nudes throughout the school seemed justified. while you suspected there were other motivations behind the trio's actions, you believed this was certainly one of them. rumors had circulated that a scandalous photo of you was included in that collection, but thanks to kyung-jun, you never had the opportunity to see it before it was taken down.

​

suddenly, a loud ringing sounded from the building’s speakers, followed by the lights blinking before turning off, leaving you and your classmates in complete darkness. your classmates' phones were brought out to be used as flashlights, aiding the completely pitch-black atmosphere.

​

a girl lets out a startled scream as a figure draped in a white sheet looms in the center of the gym. not one to tolerate nonsense, hyun-ho swiftly hurls his basketball at the figure, which lets out a grunt and collapses to the floor. you can't help but let out a laugh that bubbles up from your chest. just then, the backup lights flicker on, revealing heo yool, the class clown, emerging from beneath the sheet. you shake your head in annoyance; of course, it would be him.

​

“yah!”

​

“stop messing around,” your classmates cry out. “seriously!”

​

heo yool quickly stands, stumbling over the slippery fabric. “hey, listen!” he urges, serious. “a female student committed suicide here. you must not look back in the mirror after midnight, and don’t look if someone grabs your ankle while you sleep. break these rules… and it’s a ghost!”

​

when heo yool rushes at mi-na and joo-young, they scream and retreat in terror, and the boy laughs at his practical joke.

​

you let out an exasperated sigh, knowing he’ll soon claim that if you call bloody mary’s name three times in the mirror, she’ll appear behind you just like that. shaking your head, you turn back to hyun-ho, dismissing your other classmates with a wave of indifference.

​

“are you two sharing a room?” you ask hyun-ho and dong-hyeon. they nod, fist pumping, and you sigh.

​

“i’ll be sharing a room with eun-ha,” you declare with a hint of excitement. “i can only imagine how much alcohol she packed.” hyun-ho shoots you a disapproving glance, but you can’t help but nudge his shoulder playfully, a smile breaking through your feigned frustration.

​

“no need to worry, appa, just a little for me.” you gesture with your fingers to show the small amount, chuckling at his serious demeanor. as you step back from the two, you pick up your bag from the floor. “i should go see my room and greet eun-ha.” you wink at them playfully before skipping away.

​

upon opening your door, you found eun-ha exactly as you imagined she would be: with yeon-woo and eun-chan surrounded by bottles of soju and snacks. you smile at them and wave slyly in greeting.

​

“hey, roomie,” you winked, sitting beside her. she grinned at you and handed you a paper cup, filling it with clear liquid. you brace yourself as you chug the drink and exhale in satisfaction. “i love class trips with you,” you smile, and the three of them laugh at your comment.

​

the four of you pause as all your cellphones vibrate with a notification. taking out the device from your pocket, you frown. it’s the mafia app, inviting you to start the game. you click the icon, and it opens to a blank envelope. you swallow another shot as you read through the rules that appear next. you're nervous as you check your occupation and can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when it reads, citizen. you were horrible at lying and thus always lost whenever you played as a mafia, police, or doctor.

​

from heo yool: hey losers! let the game begin now! isn’t baek eun-ha the mafia?

​

you scoff at the message in the group chat, and then frown. you don’t remember putting in your name into the game, and yet the page appears to have your entire class’s roster already entered into the system.

​

eun-chan scoffs. “he’s enjoying this way too much.”

​

eun-ha nods in agreement, upset to be called out. “hey, this is no good. let’s kill him,” she suggests, her words starting to slur from the alcohol.  “vote for him unanimously? go for it?”

​

you shrug, taking another sip of your drink.

​

“go!” cries eun-chan.

​

from eun-ha: heo yool is the mafia. let’s kill him.

​

“okay,” she declares, tapping away at her phone. you find yourself also tapping yool’s name and are a bit startled when a class photo of his appears on the screen alongside the words, will you vote for heo yool as mafia? before you can overthink, you click yes, grabbing a chip from the bag on the table.

​

“done,” you face the others as they grin back at you. with one more shot of alcohol, you stand up, throwing your bag onto your desk haphazardly, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol on your empty stomach. you turn back to the group and tell them, “i’m going to go find hyun-ho to see who he voted for.” the group groans at you.

​

“why don’t the two of you just date already?” eun-ha groans half-joking, and you gasp in horror.

​

“eun-ha,” you state matter-of-factly. “you know that idiot is like a brother to me.”

​

she pouts. “but he’s cute.”

​

you laugh at her comment. “he is, but he also watches basketball games all day on his phone like an ipad kid,” you shudder. “i would never. bye, guys.”

you wave at the trio before closing the door behind you and heading to the first floor, where you had last seen your friend.

​

as you pass by the gymnasium, you hear voices and wonder who is still around downstairs. it was muffled, but it was clear to be a variety of male tones. perhaps, one of them was hyun-ho or dong-hyeon. if you found one, you’d find the other.

​

however, you’re not surprised when you enter to see kyung-jun accompanied by his sidekicks, seung-bin and jin-ha. nor does it surprise you to see woo-ram, joo-won, and da-beom on the floor littered beside them. they appeared to be covered in fresh bruises, and joo-won sported a nosebleed. what did surprise you was your class president’s presence as he stood toe to toe with your soulmate.

​

“you’re taking your pranks too far,” jun-hee was saying, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. in what ways did assault constitute as a prank?

​

kyung-jun raises his eyebrows in mild amusement. “prank?” he asks, followed by a hand gesture as his face turns cold. “i’m fucking serious right now.”

​

you can’t help but shake your head as jun-hee breaks eye contact, turning his head to the side, and begins to find an excuse for his need for the bullying to stop.

​

“da-beom agreed to help with the event tomorrow,” jun-hee tells kyung-jun. “i can take him with me, right? we’re leaving.”

​

“i—i—” stutters da-beom, resisting your class president’s grip. “i’m okay.”

​

kyung-jun grabs jun-hee’s arm, which is gripped around da-beom’s hand. a mocking smile takes over his lips as he faces jun-hee. “he’s okay, apparently.” he turns and puts a hand on da-beom’s cheek.

​

you’re suddenly aware of a presence behind you. you turn your gaze and meet hyun-ho’s as he comes into the gymnasium. you look back at the scene unfolding before you as your friend paces towards the group. your hands curl in anticipation. hyun-ho raises the basketball he’s carrying in one hand, before launching it directly into the small of seung-bin’s back. the said boy grunts, holding the assaulted spot, as hyun-ho approaches.

​

“shit!” seung-bin grunts. “who was that?” he pulls up short when he sees hyun-ho.

​

“seung-bin,” hyun-ho greets mockingly. “you’ve gotten pretty big. have you been working out?”

​

you snort, but silence yourself when you notice that kyung-jun has spotted you standing near the entrance, and he silently wonders how long you’d been standing there.

​

“shit, jang hyun-ho. you son of a bitch,” snarks back seung-bin, he’s teeth clenched together.

​

“why are you all gathered here and flipping out?” kyung-jun asks, coming up to face hyun-ho and dong-hyeon, turning his back to you.

​

“we wanted to exercise. why?” hyun-ho responds, reminding you of why you’d found your way back to the gym to find him in the first place. “can’t we?”

​

kyung-jun lowers his head, clearly annoyed, and spits on the floor next to hyun-ho. you grimace.

​

“you losers couldn’t even make it into the national team,” kyung-jun digs at them, scoffing at the pair in front of him. you pierce your lips at the comment and pray that hyun-ho keeps a level head.

“fuck. sure, work your asses off, then. let’s go,” he tells seung-bin and jin-ha, patting hyun-ho on the chest before brushing past him and moving towards you. when he passes you by, he latches onto your upper arm, forcing you to stumble after him.

​

you glance over your shoulder and internally thank jun-hee as he holds back hyun-ho from continuing the confrontation, but frown when you turn back to face kyung-jun. what did he want this time?

​

after telling seung-bin and jin-ha to screw off for a few minutes, the two of you find an empty classroom to sit in. it’s quiet, the only sound the ticking of a broken clock over the exit, and you find yourself unsure where to turn your attention.

​

after a moment, he leans forward onto the desk between the two of you and looks into your eyes. you can’t choose where to look — his deep brown eyes, the spray of faint freckles against his tan nose, or his lips as he smirked upon your reaction.

​

he says your name delicately, making you lock gazes with him at the strange softness within his tone. “do i scare you?” he asks, his voice low.

​

despite yourself, you find your answer truthful. “a tiny bit.”

​

kyung-jun scoffs, his lips still curled in amusement. he glances down and then back up at you. “it’s not like i’m going to hurt you.”

​

you shrug, and again your response is the truth when you say, “i know.”

​

“then what?”

​

you inhale, nervous suddenly, the palms of your hands beginning to sweat. “sometimes,” you mull over your words slowly. “sometimes, the power you emit is quite intimidating. it makes me nervous to pay attention to you.” you’re ashamed of your words, cheeks flushing as you worry you just fed his ego with your comment.

​

“it’s not like i’m the one ignoring you,” scoffs kyung-jun, pulling back from you with annoyance. “stop making it seem like it’s my fault.”

​

you frown. “yah, well, it’s not like you wanted anything to do with me, anyway, so i thought that would make us both happy,” you explain harshly, throwing daggers through your sharp gaze.

​

kyung-jun pierced his lips to keep from impulsively lashing out at you. he runs a hand through his hair and scans the room to make sure it’s empty again before he speaks.

​

“listen,” he exhales, a hint of frustration in his voice. “this whole soulmate thing is unfamiliar territory for me. when you approached me for the first time, i honestly thought it was just another cosmic prank. i had just been thrown out by my stepdad, feeling utterly defeated, and then there you were — this radiant, carefree spirit smiling at me when i was at my lowest. i need some time to wrap my head around the fact that we’re meant to be together or whatever. it’s a lot to take in, and i’m sure you can understand that.”

​

you nod thoughtfully, absorbing his words. while it doesn’t erase the years spent in silence, it’s more than you’ve ever received from kyung-jun. wanting to reassure him, you offer a gentle smile. “thank you for sharing this with me, kyung-jun. i truly understand your feelings, and I appreciate you being open to this bond,” you say warmly.

​

your phone buzzes, and you furrow your brows, finding the time to be near midnight already. you stand from the desk and worryingly look at kyung-jun. “maybe we should find everyone else. i’m not sure if our teacher ever came back after he left earlier.”

​

kyung-jun frowns and nods before following you out the door and into the corridor. you discover that most of the other pupils have congregated there already.

​

the now-familiar artificial voice echoes through the room, announcing, “the voting ends in one minute.”

as the clock ticks down towards midnight, marking the conclusion of the first round of the mafia game, you exchange puzzled glances with kyung-jun, both of you anxiously awaiting the timer's end. you hope that once it concludes, you can finally head to bed, as your lengthy nap has left you feeling even more fatigued than usual.

​

everyone in the hallway is glued to their phones, and as the time passes, you noticed your anxiety growing. the same ai voice announces that the voting is over as another tone beeps through the speakers.

​

“i’m sure everyone voted for you,” eun-ha calls out, pointing at yool. “we all know that you created this.”

​

“hey, what are you talking about?” heo yool complains, confused by the statement. “and why did you guys vote for me? why are you making it so boring?”

​

“come on,” insists yeon-woo, pointing at his friend.

​

once again, the voice and the alarm blare. “heo yool, the person who receives the most votes, will be executed.”

​

as everyone playfully waves at the boy, you can't help but frown in confusion when he suddenly bends over, clutching his head in pain. you instinctively grip the bottom of kyung-jun’s jacket, feeling a surge of concern as yool grimaces, his voice rising in shouts before he finally falls silent, slumping over.

​

while his friends shake him, he rises slowly, and looks forward, his eyes pure white. you can’t help the gasp that escapes from your mouth at the sight. the boy kneels to the ground and begins to bash his forehead harshly against the hard floor. you shriek as you see the blood splatter from the open wound on his head, the stream falling over his handsome features and down his chin.

​

when heo yool stands again, his hair is drenched in his blood, clumping over his rolled back eyes, and you gag at the sight. kyung-jun shifts slightly to block the view from you, but your need to know what is happening outweighs your logic. before anyone can stop yool, he turns and smashes his skull into the picture framed against the wall. your classmates shriek in horror as the scene repeats.

​

“yool,” jun-hee pleads in disbelief.

​

heo yool turns towards his classmates and proceeds to bolt towards you. kyung-jun slams you and himself against the wall as the boy flew past you and out the second-story window. the loud thud that follows is sickening, but the silence from your classmates at the shock is even more disturbing.

​

the alarm breaks the quiet, and the announcer reveals that heo yool was a civilian. before you can even bring your hand from your mouth, you collapse as the world goes dim, a peaceful darkness overwhelming your senses.

​

─────

you wake on the floor, your neck stiff from where it landed on kyung-jun’s extended arm. for a brief moment, confusion consumes you before you jolt up in remembrance, and based on your classmates' expressions, you weren’t the only one who did.

​

“what happened?” jeong-won asks no one in particular. water wells in your eyes.

​

“i don’t know,” yoon-seo responds, shaking her head dully.

​

another notification from the mafia game echoes throughout the hallway, and you scramble to find your phone alongside everyone else.

​

“just before the final round concluded, the police officer exercised their authority. choi joo-won was executed by the mafia, revealing that choi joo-won was indeed part of the mafia. participants, please find the mafia and start voting,” the artificial voice conveys to you.

you inhale sharply, a single tear escapes the corner of your eye as you blink, and you wipe it away quickly, but not before kyung-jun notices. you shakily rise to your feet, tucking your hair behind your ears as you hear questions echo from your classmates. you see hyun-ho through the crowd, and despite a bloody nose, he looks otherwise unhurt from the struggle last night.

​

“the announcement…” woo-ram speaks up, pointing to the speakers in the ceiling. “whose making the announcements? why do we keep hearing that right now?”

​

you shudder at his tone, wringing your hands together, shaking your head. your heart felt like it was about to explode, thudding so loudly against your ribs you wouldn’t be surprised if kyung-jun, who stood directly behind you, could hear it.

​

“the broadcasting room is on the second floor,” hyun-ho announces, before rushing towards the stairs. “let’s go over there; come on.”

a handful of your classmates follow him down the hallway, but a yelp sends everyone else in the opposite direction, towards the men’s restroom. upon entering, you gasp and turn away at the sight of joo-won with his skull bashed in.

​

“he’s dead,” jun-hee confirms, “the mafia…”

​

“t—this is because of the mafia game,” da-beom stutters out, glancing nervously between his classmates. “what if we all end up dying?”

​

kyung-jun grips the boy’s collar, growling out, “shut up, you bastard. no one’s fucking dying.”

​

the two are interrupted by yoon-seo as she crouches close to the body.

​

“yah, yoon-seo, what are you doing?” so-mi cries out as the girl reaches her hand towards the blood spilt on the ground.

​

“he was killed recently. the blood isn’t dried yet,” she informs those behind her, before her actions catch up with her brain and she gags.

​

“hey, class president,” kyung-jun rounds on jun-hee, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “what will you do now? huh? what will you do?”

​

“we should…” jun-hee says slowly. “get out of here first. tell everyone that we need to get out of here.”

​

kyung-jun grips your arm again, practically dragging your still frozen body behind him as he makes his way towards the entrance, telling the other students outside the restroom to move that way, too. you stumble over your feet before you regain your bearings and tear away from kyung-jun’s hold. he shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets, and struts behind you out of the building, observing your classmates.

​

as you and your classmates begin to move, the unmistakable blare of the game's alarm pierces the air, signaling that the competition is confined to a specific area. you instinctively gesture towards the stark white lines marking the courtyard's boundaries and lean in to ask kyung-jun if he had witnessed anything unusual the night before. he shakes his head, a clear indication that he, too, is in the dark, and a shiver runs down your spine as uncertainty envelops you.

​

“guys, hold on,” jun-hee turns and faces your class, his voice carrying over the quiet day. “don’t leave just yet.”

​

“why?” wails sang-hwan, fear clearly overtaking his judgment.

​

“something’s strange,” insists jun-hee.

​

irritated, sang-hwan asks him, “do you believe bullshit like this? fuck, whatever, let’s go.” sang-hwan continues forward and passes the white line. everyone yells for him to stop, and his friend hyun-seok follows him over the line in an attempt to halt him.

​

the next series of events occurs in quick succession. first, sang-hwan stops moving and clutches his head the same way that yool did the previous night, followed closely by hyun-seok's own obvious headache pain. the artificial voice declares that the two will be put to death for disobeying the game’s rules. as you watched the two white-eyed boys tensely move their bodies like marionettes and face each other, you noticed that your knees started to wobble. you can hear the sickening sound of their skulls cracking against each other as it reverberates throughout the empty air. you cover your ears quickly and whimper as you turn away to avoid seeing it occur again.

“lee sang-hwan and kim hyun-seok were both civilians.”

​

you find your legs giving out, and before you can completely crumple to the floor, kyung-jun’s hands are under your arms and lifting you up and into his chest. your breath comes fast, as you realize there’s no visible end to the game. no solutions came to your head, and the images of your dead classmates flash across your eyes over again.

​

You staggered through alleys slick with city grime, rainwater swirling in neon puddles at your feet. Every step punched a fresh flare of agony through your side, where your coat clung wetly to the blood seeping from beneath. You didn’t know if your ribs were bruised, fractured, or split like kindling—but every breath felt like dragging lightning into your lungs and hoping you didn’t catch fire.

They’d said four men. Maybe five.

They’d lied. It had been closer to eleven—if you were counting the one catapulted through the window. You’d clawed your way through that hell. Fought like an animal in a trap. And you’d gotten what you came for. The hard drive burned cold and hard against your belly, its weight heavier than steel.

But now you were bleeding.

And somehow, your body—battered, burning—had walked you here.

Of all places.

To him.

You stood at his door, water dripping off your soaked clothes to pool at your feet, hand raised in mid-air, suspended in hesitation. The alley behind was too quiet. The storm outside sounded muffled, like the world was pressing in from all sides and this was the eye of it.

You hated him.

You hated him with an intensity that tasted like smoke and felt like lust. Hated his smirk. His arrogance. His voice. His eyes. His mouth. Hated how often you imagined it against your skin, even now.

But you couldn’t walk another block.

And you couldn’t risk what was in your hidden pocket. Couldn’t risk losing yourself out there when you'd already lost too much.

Your fist met the door before your pride could stop it. The knock echoed through the porch. You turned your head, checking behind you out of habit, expecting a shadow to crawl from the storm. Nothing. Another knock, this time louder—sharper, more frantic. Pain bit at your side, sharp as a blade twisting. You doubled slightly, hand pressed harder over the heat blooming beneath your ribs.

And then the door jerked open.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook.

Fucking hell.

His black hair was a mess—still damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower, frowzy strands falling across his forehead. His raven eyes, sharp as always, scanned you in a single, sweeping glance. No flicker of surprise. No warmth. Just that same infuriating coolness that always made your blood boil.

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been? Losing a fight with a sewer?”

His voice was a cold blade, smooth and deadly.

You didn’t reply. You looked past him instead, scanning the dark corners behind his shoulder—checking for threats, anything to distract from his judgment.

“Hi to you too,” you muttered, lips twisting in a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. Sarcasm was armor, and you wrapped yourself in it fast.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with his arms crossed like he’d been expecting you—and maybe he had.

That was the thing about Jungkook. He knew your tells like battle scars. And he used them.

"Can I come in?" you asked, the words rasping out before you could steel yourself. Your voice cracked, just slightly, under the weight of everything you were trying not to show. "Please."

That made him pause.

Jungkook wasn’t used to you asking for anything—let alone pleading.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside, eyes never leaving yours.

You passed him like smoke, brushing too close, too fast, but not fast enough to miss the heat radiating off his skin. You didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

“Thank you,” you muttered, half breath, half defeat.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

You and Jungkook had been orbiting the same hell for too long. Tossed together by whatever bastard thought pairing oil with fire was a great tactical move. You worked like wolves. Clashed like storms. And when it mattered, you covered each other’s backs with snarls and bloodstained fists.

Still, you had rules. Self-made. Non-negotiable.

No drinking with him.

No sleeping in the same room.

No letting him see you bleed.

No showing up at his door when you were breaking.

Too late.

The couch called to your bones, but his voice cut through the air like a whip. “You’re soaking wet.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging a hand through your drenched hair. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Your fingers found the back of the sofa, steadying yourself as exhaustion clawed at your spine. Your clothes felt like lead. Your skin itched from the dried blood you knew clinged underneath. If you closed your eyes, you were done for. So you didn’t.

He moved to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Leaned against the frame, arms folded, every muscle taut beneath the hold of a black shirt. The battered—and quite edgy—fabric hugged his torso like it wanted to be torn off. His sweatpants hung dangerously low, a taunt all on their own.

Your gaze flicked down. Just once.

Big mistake.

"I’m assuming you got it?"

The husky scrape of his voice pulled your head up. You stared for a beat, then moved to the table in the kitchen like your legs weren’t screaming with every step.

"What do you think?" you bit back, reaching into your jacket and yanking out the hard drive. You chucked it at him without ceremony. “Prick.”

He caught it with the kind of lazy precision that always pissed you off. No flinch. No reaction. Just a long look, like he was trying to read past the rain and bruises to what lay underneath.

But your coat was still on. Your secrets still safe—for now.

You slumped into a chair. He moved beside you, sliding his laptop across the table and plugging in the drive.

"‘Kay then, let's just throw the thing around so we lose the leverage we have and money we won’t be paid for."

You allowed yourself to shut your eyes for a second, and leaned your head against the wall behind you. “Dramatic as ever.”

The clicking of his keyboard filled the room. Rhythmic. Familiar. You focused on it like it might keep you conscious.

“What took you so long then? Are you that out of shape?”

A small laugh escaped, tight with pain. “As if.” You shifted in your chair, wincing as fire flared under your ribs. “They lied. There were more of them than their intel promised. A lot more,” you muttered, voice brittle with leftover rage.

The keyboard stopped.

You opened your eyes to find him staring.

“How many?”

You let out a breath. Winced again. “Ten? Maybe twelve? I didn’t exactly count heads while they were trying to break mine open.”

His expression faltered.

Just a crack. A flicker. Barely there—quick enough that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you saw it. The sharp flash of something unspoken that darted through his gaze like a blade—gone just as quickly as it came.

He stood slowly. Like he was bracing for impact. Like he could already taste the blood in the air. His movements were quiet, calculated. An animal not yet sure if it needed to strike or mend.

“You’re hurt.”

The words were low, almost a growl. Not concerned. Not yet. But deadly focused.

“Not really.” You shot back too fast. Too automatic. The deflection barely made it past your lips before another sharp wince cut through you, slicing clean under your ribs like a warning. “I’m just soaked… and sore. Pretty normal after rain and knocking out a few men.”

His gaze sharpened.

Whatever he’d been doing on his laptop no longer mattered. Jungkook stepped closer, leaving the glow of the screen behind like it was nothing. His full attention snapped to you like the click of a safety being released.

His eyes dragged over you—slow, deliberate. Mapping out every flinch, every shiver of pain beneath your soaked jacket. You felt stripped bare, despite the layers you still wore. You hated that look. Hated how closely he could read you. Like his fingers weren’t the only things that could undo you.

You shifted back in your seat instinctively, tension rippling down your spine.

But his voice cut through your retreat like iron.

“Take that off.”

The command didn’t even try to be soft. You saw the way his jaw tensed around it, like he hated how much he wanted to say it—and how badly he meant it.

Your breath stilled. An unholy cocktail of defiance and heat clawed up your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“You're drenched,” he said, cool and precise, but his tone wasn’t nearly as detached as he wanted it to be. “You're shaking. And now I can bet my ass you're bleeding too.”

His eyes dropped—too focused, too dark—and locked onto your side. His voice lowered, rough like gravel. “Just get in the bathroom.”

Oh. Oh. He was fucking serious.

And that made you want to punch him.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed the heat rising in it—rage, maybe. Or something worse. Your fingers curled tight against your thigh, jaw grinding. “You can ready your ass then ‘cause you couldn’t be more wrong!”

But even you didn’t believe that. Your body throbbed in agreement, every nerve screaming betrayal beneath the slick black of your sleeves. You knew how to fake strength. But you were running out of it.

You stood. Slowly. Painfully. If you could just make it to the door—

“You have the package,” you muttered, trying to keep your spine straight, even as your knees threatened to fold. “I already did my part. Now you keep it safe.”

You turned your back to him. The mistake was thinking he’d let you go.

You barely made it four steps before his hand was gripping the collar of your jacket, yanking you to a halt. “Just get in the fucking bathroom, for fuck’s sake!”

"Or what?" You spun, fury lashing in your tone, a snarl curling your lips as your fingers fumbled furiously with the zipper.

You would leave his place with or without the damn jacket. You didn’t care. This was a mistake—coming here, letting him see you like this, giving him even an inch of something he could hold over you.

"Or I'll fucking make you," he growled, yanking the jacket from your shoulders as the zipper finally gave way.

The motion twisted your arms awkwardly, pain lancing through your side with a white-hot burn. You faltered. A sharp breath escaped you as your knees buckled.

He caught you immediately.

And when he steadied you, it wasn’t with roughness. It wasn’t with victory.

“Sorry. Fuck—I'm sorry.” His voice dropped, rough and ragged, hands gently guiding you back upright. “Just… please, let me help you.”

Your head fell forward, forehead brushing the side of his shoulder. Not from affection. From sheer exhaustion. From not having the strength to keep up the fight.

When you finally opened your eyes again, his were already watching you, one hand dragging through his hair in a clear sign of restraint. His chest rose and fell beneath that clinging shirt, his breath a little too uneven.

“Look—you came to me. You’re already here.” His hand returned to your hip, grounding and firm. “Let me just take a look at that.”

You opened your mouth, ready to throw another snarky line just to keep the rhythm of control in your corner, but before you could, he was already steering you—gently, insistently—toward the bathroom.

“Jungkook—”

His hand shot up near your mouth, not touching, just fingers curling in the air like he was this close to losing whatever thread of patience he had left.

“Just—shut your pretty mouth for a second.” He turned to open the bathroom door, not waiting to see if you obeyed. “Get in. Take that off.”

He nodded toward your shirt and gave the smallest push to your lower back. “I’ll be right back. No arguing.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His bathroom was bigger than expected. Clinical. Sterile. Almost too neat for someone in this line of work. But it made sense, in that strange, maddening way Jungkook always did. Controlled chaos in the field—total discipline at home.

The dim light spilled down the tiled walls in long, moody shadows. The floor was freezing under your bare feet as you peeled off your shirt, every movement stiff with pain. Your fingers trembled, but you managed it.

Your cargo pants stuck to your thighs, soaked and heavy. You unfastened them, sliding them low enough to access the damage—only to the curve of your hips. Anything more and your pride would unravel too.

You sank onto the closed toilet lid in just your open pants and a black sports bra, arms bracing hard on the basin. Your breath came shallow, dizzy from blood loss.

The door swung open, startling you.

You jerked, arms flying up to cover your chest. “You could always knock.”

“And miss the show?” His voice was low, shameless—but it didn’t bite. There was no cruelty, only that maddening velvet steel that was his signature.

He stepped in slowly, kneeling before you with a med kit tucked under one arm, movements deliberate and devastatingly calm. The sight of him like that—on his knees, flushed skin and damp hair, inked arm flexing beneath that cursed black shirt—made your stomach twist violently.

Desire, or pain. Maybe both.

“Just give me that—I can manage,” you said, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

But his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding your arm down with a tenderness that disarmed you more than any threat. “No, you can’t.”

He looked at you—really looked—his eyes falling to the crimson trail running from your ribs, jaw tightening as he exhaled. “This’ll sting.”

His hands hovered over your skin, the gauze paused midair. He wasn’t moving. Just staring at your torso like it told a story he hated reading.

You shifted. “Well?”

That snapped him out of it.

He pressed the antiseptic to your wound and your world exploded.

“Son of a—”

“Breathe.” His voice was a rasp, low and oddly soft, his free hand finding your hip. His fingers didn’t press—just steadied. A quiet promise not to let you fall.

And for a second, you let him hold you like that.

You lost track of everything once he peeled the bloodied gauze away, his movements deft and careful. Jungkook picked up a hooked needle with the same deadly focus you’d seen him use while disarming a bomb or loading a gun. His teeth came down to snap the nylon thread, the noise sharp in the bathroom’s too-quiet air. Your breath hitched.

Modesty didn’t matter now. Not with the sweat on your brow, the taste of copper in your mouth, and the burn that spread from your side like a live wire. You uncurled your arms from your chest and gripped the basin and wall behind you, knuckles whitening, fingers digging into porcelain.

“Oh, God…”

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He noticed—of course he noticed. Jungkook’s eyes darted to your face. Then his hands came down to your knees, grounding you with a touch that was unexpectedly steady. Unexpectedly warm. Like an anchor.

You couldn’t stop staring at the needle, though.

Your gaze clung to it like it might jump at you. You weren’t new to fieldwork—scars littered your skin like a patchwork of every mission that had gone sideways. But stitching? That was personal. Up-close and brutal. It wasn’t the pain that got to you. It was the implication. The intimacy of being opened and closed again in someone else’s hands.

Worse than all that was him seeing you like this.

Panicked. Fraying. Human.

“Hey.”

His voice slipped through your spiraling thoughts.

Then his hand was on your face—firm and unrelenting. His fingers curved under your jaw and tilted your chin down, forcing your eyes to meet his. He looked thunderous, but not in the way you’d grown to expect. Not cruel. Not smug. He looked… patient. Focused. Like he was trying to will the fear out of you.

“You really need the stitches, baby,” he said, and the nickname unraveled something low and sharp inside your chest. “I don’t have anesthesia—But I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You blinked at him, momentarily mute.

It wasn’t just the pain—it was the softness, the way he said baby like it was a secret he hadn’t meant to let slip. You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or lean into him.

Your chest tightened. So you nodded, barely.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

And then he stitched.

The pain came instantly. Sharp and molten. Your whole body flinched, muscles locking as you grabbed your discarded shirt beside you and shoved it into your mouth to muffle the cry. It was either that or scream.

But you didn’t look away from him.

Not once.

Even through the haze of agony, you couldn’t ignore how he looked up at you between every pull of the thread. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lashes casting shadows over cheekbones sharpened by the low light. That little scar he had on his left one. Every few seconds, his eyes found yours, like he needed to make sure you were still breathing.

And worse—you liked that he was watching.

His fingers moved too near your skin, grazing the edges of you, slow and precise. With each tug of the needle, a jolt ran through your spine. Not all from pain. Your body was buzzing, alive in a way that made you clench your jaw and hate every molecule of awareness you had.

Because why did he have to be this close?

Why did you want him closer?

You took the shirt out of your mouth and swallowed hard. The tension in your voice matched the tension on your skin. “You always do this?”

He didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Play medic for strays?”

His jaw clenched tight, shadow gathering under his cheekbone. His hand paused on the final stitch, threading the knot harder than needed. His silence was louder than a curse.

He tossed the needle aside like it had burned him, shoving the med kit across the tiles with a careless flick of his hand.

“Only the ones that run into traps alone.”

The words cut deeper than the stitches.

His hands hovered in his lap, still curled into fists. You watched his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make that faint, telltale line dent his cheek. The one that only showed when he was furious. When he was trying to hold back.

You knew that look. You’d seen it too many times. He always wore it before things exploded.

“You should’ve told me,” he said finally. His voice was raw, softer than before. A confession, almost.

You couldn’t handle that softness.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight. “It’s just a scratch,” you muttered, but the words rang false in your ears yet again.

He sat back on his heels, eyes still burning through you. “Just a scratch,” he repeated, the laugh hollow. “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed wrapped around you like a vice.

Not peaceful. Not even quiet. It throbbed—the kind of quiet that made your skin prickle and your lungs tighten. It felt like something had cracked open between you, and neither of you knew how to close it.

You moved to stand, needing air, space—anything that wasn’t this. But before your muscles could engage fully, his hand came down, flat and sure, against your thigh.

Not a grip.

Not a threat.

Just there.

“Don’t,” he said.

You made the mistake of meeting his raven eyes.

Electricity. That’s what it felt like. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the dark brown whole, and there was something feral clawing behind them. Something wild. Untamed.

Not hate.

Need.

“I’m not staying,” you whispered, barely able to push the words past the burn in your throat.

Jungkook rose in one fluid movement. He was suddenly there, towering over you, too close, too solid, the heat of him crowding the air.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were a promise. A warning. Maybe both.

He turned his back to you before you could respond—walked to the sink like the conversation was over. He scrubbed his inked knuckles hard, the water hissing as it hit the porcelain, blood swirling down the drain in thin, ghost-red streams. He didn’t look at you once.

But he didn’t have to.

He thought you’d stay.

So you stood. Fast. Pain stabbed through your side, but adrenaline burned hotter. You clutched your wet shirt like a weapon, storming for the door with your pride clenched so tight it nearly suffocated you.

He moved before you could touch the handle.

“What is it now? Huh?” His voice snapped like a whip. “What’s the hurry?”

He stood in front of the door like a sentinel. Like he’d expected this after all. His body blocked every inch of escape.

“I’m going home,” you bit, hand flying to the knob. “You have the damn drive, you don’t need me to run it. I’m done here.”

His hand clamped over yours, solid and immovable. His grip was hot, skin calloused. Like steel locked against silk.

“You were bleeding just a second ago, goddammit! You’re hurt. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of here.”

Your voice dropped, venomous. “You don’t get to decide.”

Jungkook leaned in, so close you could feel the fire of him, smell the faint cotton-and-cigarette scent clinging to his skin—a contradiction so sharp it made your breath hitch. His voice came out low, all grit and fury, the heat of it brushing your cheek like a threat.

“I do when my co-worker is falling apart and pretending to be fine. You’re not going the fuck out there like that and that’s final. I didn’t stitch you up only for you to drop dead.”

You didn’t speak. Not with words.

Your body did.

You shoved him.

Hard.

Your palms collided with his chest and he staggered back, spine hitting the door with a thud that echoed like a gunshot. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his neck. And for a second—just one second—you thought he might lunge. There was that flare in his eyes again. That glint of the monster you knew better than most. Want tangled with rage. But he didn’t move.

He just stood there, breathing hard, teeth clenched behind those pierced lips he didn’t part. The way he stared—like he could rip you apart and worship you in the same breath—lit something molten in your chest.

Then, abruptly, he turned his face away, playing nervously with the loops piercing his bottom lip. Calmed himself. Swallowed it all.

“I’m running you an ice bath,” he muttered, voice flat but dragging like smoke over gravel. “It’ll help with the bruises. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You stood there, vibrating with the fury and the pull, while he moved like a storm through the bathroom, filling the tub. You could hear the splash of the water hitting porcelain, could see the slow swirl of mist rising where frost met heat. Jungkook crouched and pulled something from behind the tub—a coiled noose of silver tubing, a trickle system you hadn’t noticed. Typical. Always had a backup.

“There’s clean towels there,” he said, passing you on his way out, pointing to a cabinet with one long finger. His shoulder brushed yours—intentionally or not, it didn’t matter. It burned. “Don’t lock it,” he added without looking at you, already opening the door. “Just in case something happens. I won’t come in. Just—spare me from having to barge through it, will you?”

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him like a full stop.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the water. You exhaled slowly, peeling away the rest of your clothes as you hated yourself for complying so easily. The sports bra clung to your skin like a second wound, and your pants stuck as if determined to keep every painful inch of the night stitched to you. Your underwear followed. Cold air rushed in against your naked skin, but it wasn’t the chill that had your blood racing.

You stood over the tub for a moment, teeth sinking into your lip as your fingers hovered. Then, jaw tight, you slipped in.

It was ice.

Literal ice.

You hissed, biting down a scream as the freezing water bit into your bones like knives. But you didn’t get out. You let it happen. Let it burn the heat off your skin. Let it numb the ache in your side and slow the beat of the panic still coiled in your gut.

You stayed submerged there until the pain was dulled by another—the kind that started to settle in your fingertips, the subtle ache of skin flushing blue at the nails.

That’s when you moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

You rose, dripping and goose-pimpled, wrapping yourself in the thick towel you found exactly where he said it would be. Your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore, your brain spinning in that hollow, too-calm way that meant you were still in survival mode.

Your eyes fell to your soaked clothes on the floor and tugged at your bottom lip again. Maybe you could use Jungkook’s drier and then call a cab or something. You gulped drily, looking down on yourself and the towel that hid even less than your previous attire. 

But then again, the feeling of having the wet clothing itching back your skin, tormenting your wounds, made you want to yell. 

You decided by leaving them in a heap in the corner and opened the bathroom door with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall right across from the door.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew you wouldn’t bolt.

Like he dared you to.

His eyes dragged up your form slowly, drinking in the towel, the steam curling around your hair, the flush in your cheeks—not just from the water. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, but he didn’t speak.

The silence between you screamed enough.

He exhaled like he was trying to drag the edge off himself, and you stood there in a trance, waiting for him to move first in this chessboard you stood on every time you were face to face. 

“It’s late. Take my bed,” Jungkook said finally, shoulders tensing, fists balled up inside the pockets of his sweatpants. “The couch is a wreck and you’re not curling up on the floor like some damn street cat.”

Your laugh cut through the air, sharp and disbelieving. “Don’t fucking order me around.”

“Oh, I will, since you bled all over my bathroom and all that,” he shot back without missing a beat, turning down the hall like he’d already won. He didn’t even check if you were following, but of course you did—seething and restless and not quite finished.

Jeon Jungkook was the king of final words. He collected them like weapons. Filed them sharp and threw them with intention. You doubted he even knew how to end a sentence without stamping it in blood.

When he reached his bedroom, the sight of his rumpled sheets made you pause in the doorway. They looked like him. Dark and messy and lived-in. He strode over to a dresser, fingers trailing over the wood as if the casualness could fool either of you. It didn’t. His every movement was intentional—controlled, like he was holding himself together at the seams.

“I’m not staying,” you said again, softer this time. A warning, or maybe a plea.

He didn’t turn around. “You are.”

Then his gaze lifted—through the mirror perched above the dresser. It met yours with devastating precision, and the current in the room sparked like something struck metal.

The bedroom shrank. The walls leaned in. The air felt heavier with every breath you stole, your pulse thudding traitorously against your skin.

You felt everything too much—the towel clutched tight around your chest, the damp fabric molding to your curves; the tendrils of wet hair brushing along your spine; the sting of cold air on your bare thighs. Your nipples peaked beneath the cotton, begging for a little more friction.

Jungkook turned finally, grabbed a shirt from the drawer—white, of all things—and tossed it to you with a flick of his wrist, eyes somewhere over your head. “I’ll dry your clothes after you put that on.”

You caught the shirt with one hand, inhaling as it settled in your grip. It was soft. Lived-in. You could smell him on it.

He gestured with a jerk of his chin. “Bed’s clean.”

You rolled your eyes instead of answering. Arguing now was pointless.

You could dig your heels in, sure. But your body ached. Your side pulsed. Outside, the rain hadn’t let up for hours. And the bastards you’d escaped tonight weren’t going to rest easy. If they were hunting, you weren’t up for round two.

Plus, he did say he would dry your clothes for you. You’d have to wait for that anyway.

Jungkook watched your stance shift—read the surrender in your silence like the tactician he was. Deciding it was safe, he stepped forward, back to the mirror, facing away from you.

He gave you privacy. As if it mattered anymore. As if he hadn’t already seen you stitched and half-naked, skin marked with blood and bruises.

Still, you waited.

You kept your eyes locked on his broad back, on the way his shoulders tightened when you didn’t immediately move. He wasn’t relaxed—he was steel braced for impact. Like he knew what would happen if he turned again.

You let the towel slip. Slowly. Let it fall in a whisper at your feet before grabbing his shirt and tugging it on. It clung in places, soft cotton sticking to damp skin. His scent curled around you, confusingly comforting, irritatingly intimate.

You tugged at the hem—useless. It barely brushed your thighs.

“Of all the black shirts you own, you had to choose the white one for me? For real?”

He turned then—and froze.

His eyes dropped again. Just for a second. Took in the stretch of your legs, the curve of your hips, the little puddle starting to soak through the shirt as you brought your hair all to one side. His throat bobbed.

And when his gaze snapped back to yours, it was searing.

“I’m fine,” you found the need to reassure him, stepping forward. Too close. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely, voice wrecked. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes were wild—something caged came back, clawing just behind them once more. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d do something neither of you could undo.

And so, he bolted.

“I’ll finish checking the drive,” he barked, already halfway through the door, not sparing a glance back, closing it behind him.

You were left alone, blinking in the sudden silence, his scent still clinging to your skin, your blood still thrumming like a war drum.

You crossed the room slowly, each step softer than the last, until your legs hit the edge of his bed. And then, without thinking too hard, you slipped beneath his sheets, still warm from his body.

And for the first time in hours, you let exhaustion win.

Your eyes felt too heavy to open, but it was your own voice that betrayed you first—a soft medley of a moan and a whimper, curling out of your throat like it hadn’t asked for permission.

Everything smelled like him.

The cotton warmth of Jungkook’s bedsheets clung to your skin, soaked in his scent, and it made your limbs feel heavier, your thoughts more tangled. You shifted beneath its weight, your body aching and too warm under the covers. A chill skittered down your spine regardless.

Was there a window open?

You clenched the pillow under your head, breath catching as another whimper slipped out, softer this time, needier. “Jungkook,” you whispered into the sheets, the sound too raw for comfort, too real.

And then you felt it—that presence.

Like a sixth sense, prickling beneath your skin. The faint light beneath the door drew the silhouette of a man carved out of stillness, perfectly rigid, perfectly silent.

Your pulse surged.

Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe you were imagining it. Fever dreams could do that.

But your breathing turned shallow, and the room spun slightly, dragging your consciousness fully awake. You could feel him, even without seeing his face. You could feel the way his attention wrapped around you from the other side of the door like a noose waiting to tighten.

And then your mouth betrayed you again, raspy from sleep and dry with nerves. “Are you coming in or not?”

The silence fractured.

The door creaked, slow and deliberate. The knob turned with a soft click, and then he was there.

Jungkook’s eyes latched onto yours like a hook in the gut. Gone was the usual sharpness, replaced by something raw—wide and glassy, like he’d just lost a fight with his own thoughts. His hair was a darker mess than earlier, like he’d run his hands through it in frustrated loops. His face looked shadowed, haunted. Sleep hadn’t touched him.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, heat flashing beneath your skin. The thin sheet pooled at your hips, clinging to the sweat and fever coating your bare legs.

He just stood there.

“I tried the couch,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. Like it hurt to speak.

You swallowed. Hard. “M-My clothes are probably dry now, I’ll go—”

“No.” His voice cracked with something too sharp to be gentle. He gripped the frame of the door with both hands, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d do something reckless. “Stay. It’s not that.”

His eyes followed your leg sliding beneath the sheets, and your breath stilled.

“What is it then?” you asked, trying not to let your voice tremble.

Jungkook hesitated—then his jaw clenched, breath flaring through his nose. “I kept hearing you… couldn’t sleep.”

You licked your lips, nodding faintly. “I think I’m breaking down in a fever.”

That was all it took.

He stepped inside, slow like he was wading through quicksand. As if afraid you might flinch. His knees met the edge of the bed and he hovered there, wavering fingers finally lifting to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the slope of your neck. His touch was gentle, hesitant. Like he was afraid to confirm what he already knew—but hungrier for the permission to touch you than he should’ve been.

You didn’t look away.

Your eyes stayed locked on his while his palm lingered against your pulse. And there was heat there, not just from the fever. Your thighs shifted under the sheets, friction teasing your skin in all the wrong—and right—places.

“So?” you asked, breathless.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. His hand was still on your neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. His lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Let me… uh, let me check on the stitches.”

He pulled his hand away too slowly, reluctantly, and the air felt colder where he’d been. You nodded faintly, heart hammering, remembering suddenly—damn. You were still only wearing his shirt.

You swallowed again and tugged the covers higher over your hips before raising the hem of his shirt. You stopped right under your breasts, baring the stitched flesh to his eyes.

His breath caught audibly.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached out, and when his fingers found the edge of your wound, they were soft. Reverent. He traced the perimeter of the bruising like he was learning it by touch.

Your eyes fluttered. You hadn’t expected that kind of delicacy from him. But it was undoing you in pieces.

Then his fingers drifted lower. Barely an inch, grazing your skin like they had no business being there—but made themselves welcome anyway. Your stomach coiled, every inch of you taut with anticipation. And when he reached your lower belly, your breath hitched and a moan slipped out.

He froze.

“I—” he whispered, mentioning to pull back his fingers. “I should stop.”

You were faster.

Your hand shot out, seizing his wrist, eyes blazing. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

His breathing turned frantic, eyes wide and searching your face like it was a war he didn’t want to win.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” his voice trembled but made no move to get out of your hold. “You have a fever and—”

“And I’d say the same if I hadn’t one,” you interrupted, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt until his lips hovered over yours.

Jesus, you had to be fucking delirious. 

You struggled to pin his gaze, feeling the burning of your wound from holding your abs tight from the position you were in. But you weren’t stopping this. 

He growled low, like something deep in him finally snapped—and crashed his mouth onto yours.

Your fingers threaded through his hair instantly, tugging with just the right amount of pressure. He moaned into the kiss, biting your lower lip, devouring you with an intensity that blurred every line you’d drawn.

Clothes started melting away, yours first. Jungkook’s mouth only left yours to slide his t-shirt over your head. Then his hands ran all over your naked back as he trailed a path from your neck to the sweet spot beneath your ear, lowering you back down. 

His tongue lashed and you could feel his body was heat and tension and want as you pulled him closer to you. “You’re mine.” he whispered.

God, you needed his clothes gone. 

You tipped your head back into the pillow, a whimper falling out of your mouth as you savored the warmth of his mouth back on your throat. The faint sting of his hand brushing against your ribs completely subsided by the knee he had between your legs, occasionally brushing against your core through the sheets. 

“For tonight,” you teased with a grin. 

Jungkook fisted your hair and covered your mouth ardently, and you moaned feeling his damn tongue all the way down between your legs where you needed him most. Your toes curled in pleasure. 

You didn’t know if it was the burning fever taking control over your body or your own unbridled desire, but you needed him closer, needed to feel his skin on yours. 

You started clawing his black t-shirt impatiently and he chuckled against your mouth, bringing his hand to the collar of it, pulling it out for you. 

His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling them down to his thighs. 

When you mentioned doing the same with his boxer briefs, mind dizzy as you felt him hard beneath it, he gripped your wrist, halting your movement. 

“God, you’re killing me,” he lifted himself inches off your face, staring deeply, voice wrecked with need. “We can’t—”

“I told you. This is not my first rodeo,” you said against his mouth. “And I don’t want to think about all of this. Just finish what you started.” 

Jungkook growled and his hand came down on your collarbone, pushing you. You fell back down onto the pillow, gasping as your hair fanned around you. He got up, baring his teeth, yanking his sweatpants and briefs all the way down. 

Your heart started thumping in your ears, heat firing your chest, neck, cheeks, as your eyes drifted up his body. Your own burning for him. 

Fuck. Perfect golden skin. Tight stomach, narrow waist. Toned arms, one of them inked to the knuckles—a devil in the night ready to pounce. 

Killing smile. 

Gentle, so fucking gentle with you tonight. 

Jesus, you really were fucking delirious. 

You clenched your thighs, but he kept pinning you down with his eyes, clearly unhappy about you being injured as well as you not wanting to think about the repercussions of what was going on between the both of you. Which you found adorable because his eyes kept darting to your breasts and then to your thighs as you peeled the sheets from them and watched him struggle to breathe. 

Jungkook was as untamed as you were, and he couldn’t stop the storm coming any more than you could. 

Suddenly, all of him was stretched above you, fitted against your body like sin. He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper left your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. 

“Mmm,” you fisted his hair back again, relishing on the softness of his raven locks.

His hips dipped again, rolling against you, and you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You have—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Ah—please tell me you have something.” 

He looked up to your eyes, smiling. “Yeah.”

You bit his lower lip, dragging your teeth as he gasped and squeezed your under-thigh. You locked one ankle on his lower back, pushing him into you. 

“Ah, fuck,” he moaned.

His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his neck once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows were etched in anger as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. His eyes never leaving your body as he tossed it and fisted his cock. 

Instinctively your hand came down to rub your clit and he groaned. 

He looked like a god staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on. Your head swarmed with the vision, your fingers working faster, tummy coiling expectantly. 

“You’re so fucking hot it hurts,” he breathed hard, coming down on you again. Your eyes locked as he reached between you to guide himself. 

Your hands snaked around his neck, one tugging at the hair on his nape as he crowned your entrance, pushing inside just barely. You couldn’t help but clench. “JK…” and he groaned in response. 

“You’ll be crawling back to me,” he whispered, pressing himself deeper and deeper. 

You moaned, relishing how he stretched you.

“You can run away as much as you like,” he kept going, grunting as his inked knuckles wrapped around your neck. “Throw a tantrum for all I care…”

He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely, that a single cry torn straight from your throat. 

“But after tonight, you’ll be crawling back to me,” Jungkook growled. “Again and again—You’ll be fucking mine.” 

His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder.

“Oh, fuck,” your back arched off the bed. 

Your breathing became labored as he propped himself with his other hand, staring you down as he plunged into you over and over. He gave a little squeeze on your neck, and you clenched around his cock, making him moan, dipping his head back for a moment. 

Jeon Jungkook felt so good. 

God, he felt amazing on top of you. 

You clawed your way from his pecs, down to his abs, and you felt it tighten under your touch. His pace turning unruly, wild.  

You spread your legs wide, as wide as they would go, dazed with fever and how good it felt the deeper he went. “Nhg, you feel so fucking good—fuck,” he gasped. 

“I need–” you held onto him and he sucked the air groaning, “Harder, JK.” he rolled his hips into you on command. 

God, you were spiriling. 

Your hands snaked around his waist, and you digged your nails into his ass, helping him roll into you harder, as you met him halfway. 

Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe. You couldn’t give a damn if the stitches would tear, the lush pressure of him on top of you, inside of you, kept your mind reeling. 

You’ll be fucking mine, he had said. 

You already were. 

“Jungkook, I–” you gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. “Jungkook–”

“What, Jungkook, what?” he teased. 

But your mouth came to the curve of his neck and collarbone instead, biting and moaning as he kept ramming your spot over and over. 

Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him. You cried out as you found your release, the world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. 

Holy shit. 

Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of your wound, shifting gently to the side. 

You were both a tangled and panting mess. You closed your eyes, enjoying his heavy breathing on your mouth. 

You felt his hand snaking to your hair again, turning your head to the side. He pecked on your mouth slowly until you opened for him, not helping the whimper as your tongues collided again. 

“Jungkook, what?” he asked again lazily, his eyes barely opening, hazy with pleasure. “What was it that you were going to say before?”

A laugh rumbled on your chest, low. You nuzzled your nose on his and although you were unable to remember what the hell you were about to say, you decided to do what you did best—tease him. 

“Oh, nothing… I was just going to say that, uhm, I hate you.” you kept your eyes closed, waiting for his reaction. 

When he didn’t utter a single word, you opened one of them to see his eyebrows were angry and he tilted his head in that way you fucking loved to tease him about it. 

“You do know I’m literally still inside you—?” 

You snorted, rolling to the side and claiming his mouth once more. 

God, you were fucked. 

-—ᯓ✶ part two !

also, junho always always takes the side of the bed closest to the door. call him paranoid, but he’s certain he could protect you if any danger came through the door while you were sleeping. he feels safer sleeping nearest the door, with his body shielding yours from the entrance. junho also tends to sleep with his arms locked around you, holding you to his chest — it’s not very practical, but it makes him feel safer nonetheless. he’ll admit he’s maybe overdoing it just a little bit, but sue him if he wants to protect the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

junho’s quite touchy too when you’re out together — not in an overbearing way, not in a pda way, and not in a super obvious way, either. just in the way that he feels he needs to have a hand on you, or his arm around you, in case anything happens, so he can pull you to safety as quickly as possible. he’s very subtle about it — just a big hand on the small of your back at the grocery store, or his arm curved around your waist at the pub. his hand on your thigh while he drives, or his fingers interlocked with yours when he takes you out for dinner. it’s subtle, almost like he does it without realising it, and somehow that makes it even more endearing.

of course, with junho being a cop, he makes sure you know (and follow) all the proper safety precautions. he’s well aware of how criminals work and tries his best to equip you with the right protection. if you don’t live with him, he’s constantly asking if your security cameras and alarms are all working and up to speed — in fact, he’ll come over and check them himself, just to be safe. he makes you promise to have your phone on you at all times, and prefers you have your location on when you’re not with him. he buys you a charger to keep in your car, and a portable charger for your bag, so you don’t ever run out of battery at a bad time. he probably makes you carry pepper spray in your bag, too, though he hopes you’ll never have to use it.

junho tries his best not to be overbearing, and he succeeds for the most part. he’s quietly protective, subtly looking out for you at all times. he never pushes it too much, and he respects you enough to know you can look after yourself just fine. sometimes though, you’ll tease him — giggling when he stands a little too close in the line at the grocery store, or telling him, “no one’s gonna break in, I have nothing worth stealing,” with an eye roll while he checks your alarms for the second time in one week. but it’s always lighthearted, and if anything, junho’s convinced you tease him because his protectiveness makes you flustered, and you’ve got no other way to hide how it makes you feel. though, that could just be his ego talking.

if you asked junho to stop, he would. he’d do anything you asked, clearly. but you don’t ever ask him to stop. you like that he protects you — it makes you feel special, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world <3

-

“So,” he said finally, voice low and clipped. “Still not ready to talk about the island?”

You blinked up at him. Bored. Hot. Sweaty. Your neck was damp, and your thighs were sticking to the metal chair. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word. Just stood there with that blank, unreadable expression. Disgustingly in control.

You tilted your head, lips curling.

“Still not ready to believe I don’t know shit?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. Small. Barely there.

Victory.

“You’re wasting my time.”

“Then unchain me and go waste someone else’s.”

Silence.

Then—he moved. Slow and measured. He walked around the table and stood behind your chair. You felt the heat of him at your back, too close. Your breath caught, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you smirked.

“You want me to beg?” you teased. “Is that it? Break down? Cry a little?”

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Because suddenly—your chair was kicked back roughly, dragging against the floor with a harsh screech. He’d yanked it away from the table and turned it, forcing you to face him directly.

Now he stood between your knees.

His eyes were darker than before. Something in him was cracking.

And you loved it.

“You think this is funny?” he asked.

You shrugged, playing with the loose cuff on your wrist. “I think you take yourself too seriously.”

His gaze dropped—briefly—to your parted thighs. His jaw clenched.

That’s when you knew.

It wasn’t just the mystery of the island. It wasn’t just his obsession with getting information.

You were getting to him.

“You act like you don’t want answers,” he murmured, stepping in even closer, “but you keep showing up in the same reports. Same faces. Same leads. Same damn necklace.”

He reached out and flicked the chain around your neck. It sparkled under the interrogation lights. You shivered, just slightly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His lips ghosted your ear.

“Liar.”

The next few seconds were a blur.

You didn’t even notice when he unlocked your cuffs, or when your wrists were shoved above your head, pinned against the concrete wall.

“You wanna play?” he growled, pressing his knee between your thighs. “You want games?”

Your breath hitched. Heat pooled between your legs. His body was flush against yours, fingers curling around your waist. His mouth was at your neck, biting, dragging down, leaving bruises he didn’t bother to hide.

He pulled your shirt over your head—rough, not gentle—and ran his fingers over your chest, brushing over your nipples just enough to make you gasp. He didn't linger. Didn't reward. Just kept you wanting.

"You're all talk," you taunted, breathless. "You won’t do shit."

He leaned back, eyes dark and full of dangerous calm. Then his fingers slipped beneath your waistband, down, down—hovering just barely over your heat.

But not touching.

You whimpered. And he smirked.

“Oh?” he said. “You thought this was for you?”

He rubbed a tight circle next to your clit—agonizingly close.

You hadn’t meant to push him that far. Not really.

But something in you needed him to snap again. The restraint. The control. The way he’d handled you like he could ruin you—but chose not to.

That was starting to break.

Jun-ho stepped back, chest rising, his eyes dark.

“You think you’ve got power here?” he said, voice low, rough with something you weren’t used to hearing from him—need.

You didn’t answer.

So he sank to his knees.

You gasped. The sound came out too soft, too surprised. He looked up at you, hands spreading your thighs apart like he owned the moment.

And you let him.

“This isn’t a reward,” he muttered, dragging his fingers along your inner thigh, slow, like he had all day. “It’s a lesson.”

You shivered, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table behind you. “You sure you’re not the one losing control, Agent?”

That smirk—dangerous, cocky—spread across his face.

“Watch your mouth,” he said.

Then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just above where you needed them. A ghost of pressure. Not touching—yet. Just hovering, breathing, threatening.

You exhaled hard. “Jun-ho…”

He paused, hands locking around your hips, firm. “Say it again.”

You swallowed. “Jun-ho…”

His tongue traced slow, deliberate lines against your skin, rising to meet your heat like a man desperate to taste the truth from your body. You felt everything—all of it—your back arching, your breath skipping.

But he didn’t rush.

He took his time. Let you squirm. Let you want.

Every flick, every drag of his tongue, every deep inhale like he was learning you from the inside out. You whimpered, but he held your hips down, anchoring you with firm hands, keeping you from chasing more than he gave.

His voice rasped against your skin.

“You’ve lied to everyone else.”

A pause. A kiss just below your hipbone.

“But not here.”

Another flick. Another slow swirl.

“Not when you’re falling apart like this.”

You cried out, thighs twitching. And he smiled again. This wasn’t just about heat. It was about control.

He wanted you to unravel for him.

He wanted to taste the truth.

His tongue was merciless.

"fuck jun-ho p-pleasse ah-" tears were starting from in front of your eyes he just continued on teasing, teasing and teasing you .

Not rushed. Not soft. Calculated. Like he was testing you—exploring every angle, every reaction, every part of you that trembled when he hit just the right spot.

You were already clinging to the edge, thighs trembling around his head, breath caught in your throat. Your hand had fisted in his hair as you grinded before you realized it. His grip on your hips tightened every time you squirmed too much, held you down like he needed control over every last second.

He knew you were close.

"You're close sweetheart? You wanna cum on my tongue? Is that it?" he mocked your previous words .

"F-fucl fuck yeah Jun-ho ngh"

Knew by your breathing, your pulse, the way you tried to angle your hips for just a little more pressure.

His mouth dragged along your center one more time—slow, hard, deep.

Your hips bucked.

He pulled back then he dove back in. This time, deeper. Tongue curling. Sucking hard. He found your clit and circled it with slow, brutal focus. You cried out, biting your lip so hard it hurt. Your hand fisted his hair without thinking, yanking him closer.

“Fuck—Jun-ho—”

You were so close.

And then—

He pulled away.

Completely.

You choked on your breath. Eyes shot open.

“What—”

He stood. Silent. Lips slick. Breathing steady.

You were still spread open, throbbing, empty.

“Why—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up then leaned in close. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You think you get to come just because I want you?” he asked, almost cruelly calm. “You still haven’t told me what I need.”

You stared at him, breathless, aching, wrecked.

“This was a warning,” he said. “You don’t get to lie to me and still fall apart in my hands.”

Your eyes narrowed, throat dry.

“That’s sick.”

He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“What’s sick is how close you were.”

You gasped, body still shaking as he turned away—cold again, like none of it happened. You wanted to scream, cry, crawl after him, anything to finish what he started.

But he stopped at the door, looked back once, and said:

“You want to come?”

You didn’t answer.

He smirked.

“Then confess.”

The silence in your apartment had started to feel louder than anything else.

Jun-ho had always been quiet, thoughtful — intense in the way he loved and in the way he worked. You knew what you were signing up for when you married a cop. But this… this obsession with the Games had swallowed him whole.

You barely saw him anymore.

He’d leave early, come home late, and when he was home, his body was there, but his mind was still on the island. His notebook sat open at the dinner table. His laptop buzzed through every conversation you tried to start.

You’d tried to tell him.

“Jun-ho, I miss you.”

“Can we talk tonight?”

“Please, I need to feel like I matter more than the Games.”

But every time, he’d nod absently, kiss your temple, and murmur something about “soon.”

Soon never came.

Your birthday did, though.

You spent it alone — dressed in something nice, cake untouched, a candle burning low and crooked. Hours passed. Midnight came. No call. No message. Not even a forgotten gift hidden in the closet.

When Jun-ho finally walked through the door, nearly 1 a.m., you didn’t greet him.

You snapped.

“Do you even know what today is?” you asked, voice shaking.

He looked up, confused, already exhausted. “Is this about—?”

“It’s my birthday,” you said, tears falling before you could stop them. “You forgot my birthday. And all I’ve wanted for months is you. Not your job, not some case. You. But you left me alone. Over and over.”

The pain in his face was immediate. Guilt hit him like a bullet.

“I—” he stepped forward. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, Jun-ho,” you whispered. “You just didn’t care enough to remember.”

And for the first time, you walked away from him.

You didn’t speak much over the next several days. You weren’t cruel — you just gave him silence. The same kind he’d given you. He’d leave sticky notes on the fridge: “Made you coffee.” “I’m sorry.” “Please talk to me.”

But you didn’t.

Not until day six, when you found him sitting at the kitchen table — hands clenched, eyes glassy.

“I quit the case,” he said quietly. “I asked for time off. Indefinitely.”

You blinked.

“I’ve been losing you. And I can’t live with that.”

You stood frozen, heart caught between anger and love.

“I’m here now,” he said. “If you’ll still let me be.”

You walked to him slowly, sat in his lap, and let your head rest on his shoulder — like you had the first night he held you.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I’m never leaving again,” he promised, arms wrapping tight around you. “Not when I have everything I need right here.”

He held you for a long time — no rushing, no apology wrapped in excuses. Just warmth, steady breathing, and his heartbeat thudding beneath your cheek like a quiet vow.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes.

Actual pancakes.

You shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes, only to find Jun-ho in one of your aprons — messy-haired, tongue sticking out slightly as he focused on flipping something on the pan.

“You’re cooking,” you said, stunned.

“I Googled it,” he said proudly, then turned and kissed your forehead. “Stay right there. Birthday redo starts now.”

He’d decorated the table with a lopsided banner that read “HAPPY YOU DAY”, a tiny cake with candles, and even the mug you loved most — filled with perfectly made coffee.

“Let me spoil you,” he said gently. “Not because I’m sorry… but because I should’ve been doing this all along.”

You sat, heart melting, as he served you food with a dramatic little bow. The pancakes were slightly burnt, but perfect in their own way — like him. Messy. Real. Trying.

Later, you curled up on the couch, legs tangled under a blanket, watching an old movie you’d once told him was your favorite. He remembered. He was listening now.

Halfway through, he tilted your chin toward him.

“I love you,” he said simply. “I’ve always loved you. I just… forgot how to show it.”

You brushed his hair back, eyes soft. “Then show me now. Every day.”

“I will.”

And he did.

Over the next weeks, Jun-ho made space — not just in his schedule, but in his heart. He brought home fresh flowers. Left love notes in the pockets of your coats. Started asking, “How was your day?” instead of just talking about his.

The quiet apartment became a home again — filled with warmth, shared meals, forehead kisses, sleepy morning cuddles, and long, honest talks under fairy lights.

The Games no longer consumed him.

You did.

And this time, he never forgot.

aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

king of aftercare.

warm bath, water, a snack, body massage, cuddling, and postsex-intimacy.

you name it.

he love praising you and telling you how good you were, and how well you took him.

body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

jun ho loves his biceps.

many years of police and combat training put his body into amazing shape.

the man loves curling his biceps around your neck as he hits it from the back!

jun ho loves your lips.

both of them.

however, he loves whenever you put on lipgloss on the soft lips on your face.

during sex, the officer's lips are connected to yours like magnets.

cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

cum eaterrrr.

he loves cumming in your mouth, the same way he loves when you cum in his.

seeing his cum spread on your face gets him worked up.

dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

whenever he is working at his desk in the police station, he wishes that you were under the table.

imagining you having his thick cock inside of your warm throat, while trying to stay quiet, makes him harder than rocks.

experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

honestly, I don't think he was experienced before meeting you.

the police force took too much of his time.

junho learned what your body loves overtime, and now knows your body better than you do.

favorite position (this goes without saying)

mating press.

junho loves drilling your guts as you make the prettiest noises.

the man's muscled weight is pressed on top of you, and the angle makes him feel soooo deep!

goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

junho can be silly.

I'd say 75% serious, 25% silly.

hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

well groomed.

he isn't clean shaven, but expect him to be trimmed all of the time.

carpet color matches the drapes.

intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

intimacy king.

junho is obsessed with foreplay, and knows that it is the foundation to good sex.

all of his effort goes into you, and your pleasure.

jack off (masturbation headcanon)

junho loves jacking off over your face.

the way you look up at him, with bright loving eyes, as you smile below his long shaft, makes him bust much faster.

he cums all over your pretty face <3

kink (one or more of their kinks)

choking kink. not breath play, to where he is cutting off your airway, but he loves having a light grip on your throat.

handcuffs/restraints.

praise kink.

edging and overstimulation. he loves having control as a detective, but that is not better than controlling your pleasure in bed!

location (favorite places to do the do)

the bedroom

even though he loves doing it in the backseat of his police car too.

motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

whenever you praise him in a seductive voice, he gets all worked up.

seeing you in pretty, and black lingerie makes him hard too.

casually talking, if you describe to him about how badly you want him to fuck you, he gets turned on and will do it.

no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

cnc.

as a police officer and detective, he has witnessed too much horror to be turned on by things like that.

oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he lovesss giving.

junho lets you ride his face, holding your ass with his hands as he tongue fucks you from below.

junho cannot go for a while without feeling your mouth on his cock.

once, you made him beg and whine for you to suck his cock.

pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

slow and steady wins the race.

he can be rough at times.

however, he loves taking his time with you.

quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

quickies in the back of his police car are a must.

otherwise, he hates them.

he wants to take his time inside of you, and to remember each detail of you after sex every time.

risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he wouldn't be down for risks, unless you were.

junho wouldn't be the first to think of one.

stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

this man could go on allllll night.

junho get off of her!

that police combat stamina can push him to ten rounds.

he knows how to delay his orgasms, pushing himself to overstimulation as he pushes you to release first.

toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

only handcuffs.

most of the time, you are the one handcuffed.

however, you did use it on him once.

you pushed him to four orgasms just by sucking his dick, his wrists sore from being handcuffed to your shared bed <3

unfair (how much they like to tease)

the officer teases sometimes.

junho pretends that he isn't teasing.

he will play dumb, faking innocence when you tell him to stop teasing you.

volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

the deepest groans ever.

he whimpers when you push him to overstimulation.

your moans can block out his loud groans.

wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

jun ho loves using his handcuffs on you.

you get sooo soaked knowing that he has full control over your body.

he will tease the fuck out of you, and there is nothing you can do about it!

x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

ABSSSS

that whole body is fit!

big biceps, abs, strong quads.

that dick is seven inches on hard!

more lengthy than girthy.

yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

higher than you think.

junho cannot keep his hands off of you.

sex four days a week.

zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he can stay up, loving you with aftercare and watching television with you incase he gets a radio call from the police station.

when he is off-call, he will go to sleep with you after the sex aftercare <3

The first one was the hardest. It was the point of no return. The dagger, pressed into your shaking palm by the masked man, weighed heavy. You knew what he was asking you to do. The silence speaking a thousand words.

You had your back against the wall for what felt like hours. Not daring to even close your eyes for a second. You'd heard them whispering to each other on the opposite side of the room, illuminated slightly by the golden pig that stood proud in the centre. You notice the way they intentionally stand with their backs to you, only occasionally turning back to look at your shaking body. Your grip tightened round the handle of the blade, knuckles whitening. It stayed hidden beneath the sheets, waiting.

The hushed voices soon dissipated, they nodded knowingly at each other before heading to their own beds.

You wait.

You aren't sure how much time has passed.

You wait for any signs of movement across the room.

Nothing.

You peel back the covers slowly, feet gently landing on the floor. You softly move across the room and make your way to the first bed. You look at the man's sleeping form. you're sure that you've never even noticed him in the games before. Player 322. For a moment, you wonder if this is the right thing to do.

It was you or them. In what way did they deserve to live more than yourself? You could tell what they were planning. It was definitely you next.

Your shins hit the side of the metal frame. You raise the dagger high above your head, hesitating for just a second, before slamming it down into the side of his neck. His eyes open suddenly, but you are faster. Your sweating palm quickly covers his mouth before pulling the dagger out and doing it again and again.

Before you knew it, you were heading to the last bed. Coated completely in a sticky viscous liquid, your shirt clinging to your body. You quickly reach up to your face with blood-stained fingers to try and clear your vision.

You look down at the player before you. Player 333. He'd mostly kept to himself for the majority of the games. You recall everyone witch-hunting him at the beginning over some sort of cryptocurrency. Ridiculous. He's lucky to have even made it this far in the first place. People like him don't deserve anything.

You grip the handle tightly, one knee resting on the mattress, making it dip slightly beneath your weight. He stirs, brows furrowing in his sleep. You quickly lift the dagger above him, ready to bring it down.

His eyes open quickly, trying to take the scene in before him. You bring the knife down, "fuck, what the—" he quickly reaches up for your forearms holding you above him. "What are you doing?" He spits out, holding both your arms together trying to push you off of him.

You move your other leg over, straddling him to distribute more of your bodyweight into your arms to keep pushing downwards. He continues to push back.

Your arms begin to ache. He recognises the tell-tale signs of your exhaustion and uses this as an opportunity to flip you over. His whole body weight lies on you, your thighs locked around his hips. Your arms are now stretched out above your head, and he continues to hold them now with just one hand. The other hand attempts to pry the knife from your grasp. "We can just talk this out–okay?" He pleads desperately. "Just drop the knife–" in a futile attempt to break free from his gasp, you accidentally drag your lower body closer towards him, the contact making you both immediately rethink your choices. "Fuck–" he gasps out. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

His hips stutter, meeting yours again. You both let out a sigh, neither knew you were holding. "If you wanted to fuck me so bad– you could have just asked."

You feel your heartbeat increase, heat rushing down through your veins and towards the space between your legs where he lies. You feel something hardening beneath his slacks that are now pressing against you. "Shut up–" you grit out, pretending it's not what you want.

"There's no need to be shy." His breath is light on your face. He keeps up his attempts to try get the knife from your fingers, trying to disarm you. One hand holds your wrists again whilst the other lightly touches the side of your face. "I knew you liked me." He bites his lip in between his pearlescent teeth. "I could see you starting at me–"

His fingers trace down the side of your face before travelling further down the length of your body. "Just drop the knife–" You can sense his frustration. "And I promise to make you feel good, yeah?" His hand reaches your knee, lifting your leg up and spreading you even further. He rolls his hips again, hitting you from a different angle. You're definitely soaked.

The knife clatters to the floor.

"Good girl—" he whispers softly in your ear, lips pressing against the side of your face. Open-mouth kisses are placed gently across your cheekbones and down towards your lips. You begin to get impatient, leaning forward quickly to press your lips together. It's messy and  desperate, your teeth colliding whilst your tongue traces his.

Your hips grind upwards, shamelessly, causing you both to groan again. Your arms begin to ache from still being held above your head, and you attempt to pull out of his grasp, fingers flexing desperate to hold onto something. "Not yet." He moans into your mouth. The heat is almost unbearable.

His other hand slides down your body and skillfully toys with the zipper on your slacks, undoing them. His fingers cautiously slip below your waistband, sliding between your folds. "Fuck— you're so wet— is this all for me?". He pulls away slightly, a string of saliva connecting you both to look into your eyes.

"Yes—" you gasp out, "don't tease."

He lets out a soft laugh. Before kissing you again.

His fingers do quick circles on your clit, causing your back to arch, before pressing against your centre.

"I bet I could slide right in." He pushed in two of his fingers before immediately pulling them back out. "She's begging for me."

He half-heartedly attempts to pull both your underwear and your slacks off in one motion, leaving you to help kick them off as you lift your legs.

His hands, covered in your slick, undo his zipper, and he pulls them down just far enough to release his dick from its confinement. Pumping it a couple of times before lining it up against your entrance. He hesitates. Instead he rubs it along the outside, coating it in your wetness and teasing your sensitive clit.

"Shit— just put it in already." You beg.

Suddenly, he draws back, pushing it in slowly. Taking him inch by inch. You feel the air leave your lungs. He lets go of your wrists finally, and your hands move down to tangle in his soft hair. He does a few shallow thrusts before pushing in to the hilt.

"Yeah? Do you feel that?" You can feel how deep he is inside you, filling you completely. "Is this what you needed? To be stretched out–" he pulls out almost completely before thrusting in again. You tighten around him, his words turning you on even more. "Were you really going to kill me?" He gazes into your eyes, searching for the answer. "It's okay— you were just scared, right?" He reassures himself. "You don't have to be scared anymore. We can take the money and get out of here." He mutters into your ear. "Would you like that?" One of his hands reaching for yours, entertwining your fingers. The other reaches down, rubbing your clit in tight circles. You clench down on him, tears welling in your eyes from the overstimulation and the emotional intensity of it all.

He moves slightly closer, hitting you from a different angle, dick hitting that spot just right.

"Fuck— right there–" you gasp. "I think I'm gonna–"

"It's okay— me too‐ just relax." He interrupts you, continuing to hit that same place that drives you crazy. Your body begins to shake, and you feel him twitch inside you. Hips stuttering as he releases spurts of cum deep inside you.

His body lays flat on top of you, face nestled in the crook of your neck. The lights turn back on, and the sound of classical music fills your ears. 

You had no idea how this had happened.

One moment you had been chatting with your childhood best friend and the next he was on top of you, erection pressing into your bare thigh as he lifted your skirt. His eyes were pleading, the words leaving his mouth begging.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Just the tip. It won’t ruin our friendship.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing up to see Jun-ho’s lust-filled gaze focused solely on you. You want to, God, you wanted to so bad, but you were worried. He moved his hips slightly, his hard cock brushing against you in a way that had him groaning.

“Shit,” he groaned, hands balled into fists besides your head. “I need you. Need you to be my first, fuck.”

You knew he was a virgin, well, assumed considering you told each other everything and he had never mentioned losing his virginity in the years that you had been best friends.

You nodded, letting out a shaking breath. “Just the tip.” You told him and he grinned.

“Thank you, thank you!” He said, hand moving down to undo his belt, a satisfied breath leaving his lips as he freed himself. “Just the tip, just the tip.” His words were murmured. tone laced with lust as he looked down at you.

Jun-ho’s shaking hands landed on your thighs, caressing the skin. He could see the wet patch on your underwear as he flipped your skirt up, too excited to even bother removing it. Your hands landed on his cock, enjoying the way that his eyes slammed shut at the sensation, a quiet shit leaving his lips.

“I’ll go really slow, baby, okay?”

Oh.

He had never called you that before and you couldn’t deny the fluttering inside you at the term, Wordlessly, you nodded, pressing yourself against him and grinding.

Jun-ho’s cheeks flushed, eyes snapping open to look at you, a cheeky smile on your lips which he gladly returned, letting out a long breath to compose himself.

“Just the tip,” he whispered to you as he lined himself up at your entrance, bare cock teasing your folds, gathering slick. You were wet enough, thankfully.

Your hand reached up to his cheek, guiding his gaze from your entrance to look at you. You gave him a reassuring smile, nodding.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Jun-ho. I promise.”

He held your gaze, blinking for a moment, then nodded.

“Are you ready?” He asked, voice deep and you nodded. “Okay, okay.” He whispered.

A quiet moan fell from his lips as he pressed into you, just the tip. Your eyes fluttered shut, one hand tangling itself in his hair and you had to force yourself not to move.

“You okay, Jun-ho?” You exhaled, unaware of the way he shook with restraint, his eyes focusing on your parted lips, watching as your tongue ran across.

You felt him move forward, dick slipping further into you as he rested his face against your neck and nodded. With his body resting against you, you could feel how tense he was.

“Relax,” you whispered, caressing his hair. “It’s okay.”

Jun-ho swallowed. “Just a little more is fine, right?” He murmured into you, his lips moving against your neck as he spoke.

You nodded slightly, both of you gasping as he sunk a little further into your heat.

“Just halfway,” he was struggling, you could feel it in how tense he was and hear it in his tone.

His hands shook as he stilled, palms running up your thighs and slipping beneath your untucked shirt.

“This is okay, yeah?” He asked, hands slipping beneath your bra when you moaned. His fingers toyed with your hardened buds, calloused fingers teasing.

“Shit, Jun-ho,” you gasped, your back arching slightly, body moving and providing you both with friction.

A shaky moan left his lips at the sensation. It was all so overwhelming.

“I’m not moving,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on your neck. You weren’t sure if he was telling you or trying to convince himself.

You wanted him to move, but you had both agreed that it would just be the tip; even if that was already ruined by how he was half in you by now.

“It’s fine,” he groaned. “It’s fine.”

You felt him throb inside you, your walls tightening at the sensation and he couldn’t help but move a tiny bit, biting his lip to try and stifle his moan but to no avail. Your hand in his hair pulled him up and he looked into your now open eyes.

His shaking hand grasped your cheek, forehead resting against your own.

“Jun-ho,” you whispered.

He moved slightly.

“What is it, baby?”

You hesitated, worried your request would ruin your friendship.

“Please kiss me,”

His eyes widened but he didn’t say anything before pressing his lips against yours. His inexperience was evident, but you assumed so was yours. His tongue forced its way into your mouth and teeth clashed as you both moved.

His free hand landed on the side of your neck, thumb caressing the skin as you tugged on his hair. His hips bucked slightly, a wet noise sounding through the room as you moaned.

“Feels good?” He panted against your lips, and you nodded eagerly.

His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, fingers caressing your cheek.

“Good,” he moaned as he slipped further inside.

Just the tip.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, the hand on your neck now fisting the sheets beneath you.

Everything about him was shaking: his hands, his breath, everything.

He hips moved back slightly, his eyes closing as he did so, and for a moment you worried that was it, at least until he pushed back into you a tiny bit deeper this time.

“Jun-ho,” you moaned his name in a way that almost had his restraint gone.

Just the tip, he reminded himself, even if you were past that.

He looked at you, your eyes shut in pleasure and lips parted, moaning out his name, both of your spits dripping down your face. He couldn’t help himself anymore and slowly pushed all the way into you with a loud moan,

Your eyes snapped open, pupils dilated.

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling your walls tighten around him. “I know we said just the tip, but ah-fuck. I’m sorry, baby.” He thrusted slowly, and you watched him as he swallowed.

“You don’t seem very sorry,” your words were teasing yet he shuddered, quietly moaning as he continued thrusting.

“Couldn’t, ah, help myself, shit.”

He pressed his face into your neck again, nipping at the skin.

You were glad that your roommate was out since he could not keep quiet. Loud moans left his lips, vibrating the skin of your neck as he thrusted. His moans turned to whimpers the longer he moved.

“You feel so good, baby, shit.” His thrusting became quicker, barely noticeable. “Like you were made for me. Made to take my cock.”

You had no idea where his sudden dirtiness had come from, yet you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you as you moaned, tugging on his hair.

“Jun-ho, ah, shit, please,” you begged, too shy to tell him what you wanted.

He stilled inside you for a moment, pulling away with one final kiss to look at you with a teasing grin.

“What is it, baby? What do you want?”

“I-Please, faster.” You begged. His eyes widened a fraction before his hips began moving again.

His lips slammed against yours, hand coming to play with your clit, rubbing circles.

You weren’t sure who had moaned into the kiss as your hands landed on his shoulders, tugging him closer against you and moved yourself.

“Oh my God,” Jun-ho moaned. “You’re so tight, baby. I-shit- needed you so bad. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

You weren’t given chance to think on his honest words before he sped up again, both of you moaning as the sound of skin slapping filled the room again.

“Fuck, baby, I’m ah gon’ cum if we don’t slow down.” He moaned, trying to pace himself. His eyes widened as you began fucking yourself back onto him. His hands landed on your hips, yet he felt powerless to stop you once he saw the pleasure on your face, his hips beginning to snap even faster as he moaned. “Shit.” He groaned, your legs wrapping around him to try and pull him faster. “Baby, I fuck, I can’t ah pull out if you do that.”

You didn’t hesitate before speaking. “Inside, Jun-ho, please. I need you to fill me. Make me yours.”

With those words, the last of his sense left him and he fucked into you like a mad-man, finger on your clit speeding up, desperate to feel you cum on his cock.

Your moans were quicker now, coming out more and more breathlessly as you neared your high. Your fingers could never make you feel like this, Jun-ho’s thick cock stretching you.

“Jun-ho I-“you didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence before your back arched, eyes scrunching in pleasure as the coil in your stomach snapped.

Jun-ho felt your walls tighten on his cock, pushing him to his own release as he pushed into you one final time, cum filling you as he moaned out a simple fuck.

You both lay there for a moment, hearts racing, eyes avoiding each other. Once he softened, he pulled out with a hiss, glancing down at himself to see your cum covering him.

“Y/N?” He whispered, eyes moving from his cock to your form; it was clear you had something on your mind, and he felt guilty, wondering if it was what had just happened. “What is it?”

“Did you mean what you said?”

Confusion showed in his eyes. “What?”

“About how long you’ve wanted this, wanted me.”

You stirred slightly, stretching a bit beneath the blanket. It was enough to rouse him.

Without opening his eyes, his grip on you tightened, and he let out a content hum. The sound was warm, and so was the feeling of his body close to yours.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

Jun-ho responded with a groggy noise. “Morning,” he mumbled.

Before you could roll away, he shifted downward until he was under the covers. He rested his head on your stomach, his lips brushing lazy kisses over your skin. His breath was warm, and you heard a soft groan from him, drawing a soft laugh out of you despite your drowsy state.

“Jun-ho,” you said, your voice still tinged with sleep. “What are you doing?”

His answer was muffled beneath the blanket, his lips ghosted over your stomach as he spoke. “Staying right here.”

“Come out,” your hand instinctively found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands.

“No,” he said simply, a smile in his voice as he nuzzled closer. His hands rested on your sides, holding you gently, as though you might slip away if he didn’t. “I like it here. Warm. Safe.”

You sighed, but there was no real frustration to it. How could there be? You’d seen him at his lowest, drowning in uncertainty and grief, haunted by questions that had no answers. You’d been there through the nights when the weight of his memories felt too heavy. Those moments when you were there for him had chipped away at his walls, slowly revealing the man underneath—vulnerable and loving.

“Alright, fine,” you relented. “But don’t blame me if you suffocate down there.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he let out a soft muffled laugh, shifted slightly underneath the blanket.

You couldn’t see his face, but you could picture it perfectly—the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners, the smile that made your heart flutter.

“You’re impossible,” you said, though you made no move to push him away.

“I’ve been told that before,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But you married me anyway.”

Eventually, he surfaced, his head popping out from beneath the blanket. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and yet he’d never seemed more at peace when he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your fingers brushed a stray piece of his hair back and he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, slow and unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did.

Later, the two of you were in the kitchen, making breakfast together. You stood by the counter, absentmindedly slicing fruit, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the sight of him walking over to the fridge, then the cabinets, wearing that faded t-shirt you loved seeing him in.

As Jun-ho turned to bring the plates over to the counter, he caught your eyes and paused. His expression shifted, a smile spreading across his lips as he took you in.

He set the plates down and padded over to you, then you felt his arms wrap around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, the warmth that radiated from him, and the quiet hum of his happiness filling the space.

Just as you turned around to reach for a bowl, you felt his hands on your waist. With one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the counter. Your eyes widened in surprise, and before you could say a word, he stepped between your legs, fitting himself there like he belonged, his body against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Jun-ho," you started, your voice carrying both exasperation and fondness, your hands instinctively resting on his shoulders to steady yourself.

You fell silent when his eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch, his head tilting slightly, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away.

His hands rested gently on your thighs, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of your pajamas. You could feel his breath against your lips. He paused there, his smile deepening as his gaze lingered on your face.

“I was just thinking,” he murmured, his voice low with amusement. “Breakfast can wait.”

“Yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow,

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed.

Jun-ho tilted his head slightly, and he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before angling his lips to meet yours.

It started soft and slow, his lips brushing over yours with an almost reverent tenderness. His hands slid up to rest on your hips, pulling you closer.

When he pulled back just enough to break the kiss, he let his lips trail along the curve of your jaw, then down to your neck, leaving sweet kisses along your skin. The sensation sent shivers down your spine.

“What are you doing?” you asked, though your voice had softened.

He didn’t stop, his lips pressing against the curve of your neck before he murmured against your skin. “Having breakfast.”

You smacked his shoulder lightly. “Alright, enough. Get off of me now.” you said half-heartedly.

He buried his face deeper into your neck, nuzzling into you like an overgrown puppy, letting out a noise of complaint as if your half-hearted smack had actually hurt.

You slipped your fingers under his chin, gently tilting his head up so he had no choice but to look at you. There was a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache in the best way.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Then you should do it right.”

You didn’t give Jun-ho a chance to respond. Closing the small distance between the two of you, you brought your lips to his in a kiss that made him melt against you. It was slow and deliberate, your fingers threading through his hair as you deepened the kiss, his hands went to rest on your waist as if he was anchoring himself to the moment.

Your fingers buried in his hair, tangling in the soft strands. When you gently tugged, his reaction was immediate. A soft sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and you felt the shiver that ran through his body. It was such a raw, unguarded sound, and it made you smile. His lips faltered against yours for a fraction of a second, and then he responded with renewed fervor.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his disheveled hair, his slightly kiss-swollen lips, and the faint blush on his face. His eyes searched yours with a vulnerability that made your heart warm.