#fluff txt

WINTER OF 2006: The school bell rings and Soobin nearly trips over his own feet in hopes of catching up with you. His cheeks are pink from the cold, or maybe it was from the way you laugh at him.

Either way, he still whines the same way. “If you make me do another math problem,” he groans, kicking snow at your shoes, “you owe me ramen!”

You laugh, tossing a small snowball straight at his forehead. “Or unlimited hugs!”

His ears turn red, possibly from how cold the snowball was against his skin. “Idiot,” Soobin scowls. You dart away cackling at him, ducking behind a street light that was covered with snow. He chases you through the streets, throwing snow back at you and shouting: “You can’t run forever!”

And he was right. You two grew up in the same rural town, rustled between misty mountains and rice fields that turned gold in the fall. Your house was two streets down from his, close enough that your mothers traded side dishes over worn wooden fences. You two were currently twelve; considering yourselves to be forever intertwined.

You both seemed to be wrong about that, yet right at the same time.

You twist through the streets, running on instinct while snow sticks to your lashes and coats your braided hair. Eventually, Soobin catches you against a fence, being grabbed by his hands that were barely bigger than yours.

He braces one arm above your head, breathing heavily. There was a stark contrast to your breathless giggles. “Got you!”

You look back at him, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he was somewhat stronger than you. You try to catch your breath as the snowflakes catch in his hair, making him look like a dark angel. The moment stretches—Soobin’s grin faltering as the snow melts between your gloved fingers where they press to your side. Then, impulsively, you shove a handful of snow down his collar.

”Never gonna happen, Soob!” you shriek, darting past him as he yelps at the cold feeling of the snow meets his chest. The chase resumes as laughter echoes through the empty streets until your lungs burn and the streetlights flicker on like distant stars. Later, both of your wet socks would be drying by his fireplace at his house. Soobin will remember this as the last perfect week before winter stole you from him forever.

A week later, the river freezes after a storm. It created the water into a thin and deceptive layer of ice; cracked glass under your feet. Soobin knows he shouldn’t be on the river. He was aware you would scold him for wandering near the icy bank alone. The only reason he was there was because he spotted your favorite scarf, right, the red one you always lose. It was caught on a branch just past the unstable ice, his feet moving before his brain caught up.

”Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” You yell from afar, but he doesn’t hear your frantic scolding until— until it was too late.

One second and Soobin’s boot breaks through the ice first, a sharp gasp as freezing water swallows his leg whole. Another second and you’re there, skidding onto the ice without hesitation, grabbing his wrist with your gloved

hands that slip immediately from the wet fabric. “Let go!” He shrieks at you.

”What? Are you crazy?!” You shove him toward shore with all your strength, just as the ice beneath you gives way with a sound like bones snapping. It sends you plummeting into the icy water. Your head goes under last, lungs aching with cold. You flail in the churning water, eyes wide with fear—and it was the last thing you felt.

SPRING OF 1986: You’re correcting some quiet kid’s literature paper. You write in red pen: “Metaphors aren’t algebra, Choi.” His name was Soobin, and his strong suit was math—he hated losing, especially to you.

From time to time, your English teacher made you tutor him as he was failing. The library is empty except for you two, forced into tutoring sessions once again. You could practically hear your English teacher scolding him, “Stop bickering during your exams!”

Soobin slumps over his failed test, groaning as you twirl his pencil between your fingers. “If I have to explain the Oxford comma to you one more time,” you sigh, tapping his forehead with it, “I’m charging you with buldak noodles. Extra creamy.”

He swipes his pencil back with a scowl that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You know this game, it felt familiar to you. “Why do you insist on using a red pen?” He stares at your margin notes that were placed on his paper.

You lean over his notebook, close enough that his neck feels the heat radiate off your skin. “It makes your mistakes more obvious.”

It was 2AM when his flip phone buzzed—a habit started when you reached out to him when you “accidentally” left your pair of earbuds with him. Now you guys text ever so often, and tonight’s excuse?

YOU (00:47): can’t sleep

SOOBIN (00:48): what do you want me to do about it?

In reality, he was already pulling his shoes on. You guys both met at the rooftop of your apartment buildings. Those earbuds you guys shared ever since the first time you asked for them back, playing that damn song neither of you would ever admit to liking. When he drifts off on your shoulder, you let him, only this once.

You turn your head to look at him, but your heart does something unfamiliar when you do. It was just the way the moonlight glowed on his face, eyelashes casting shadows across his face. You find your fingers reaching up to his face without thinking, tracing his jawline. Soobin’s lips part slightly as you pull back, startled by the intensity of your own actions.

That moment with him, you felt closer to him than ever. Practically feeling the rhythm of his breathing match yours, the tension in your spine relaxes like a snapped guitar string and you sink into him. You find out that it was a mistake though—the shift in weight jolts him awake, and when he lifts his head with half-lidded eyes, he finds you mere inches away.

Soobin’s gaze drifts to your hand where it rests between you and his jaw. The air shifts between you two, a palpable tension that wasn’t there before. His voice is hoarse when he whispers: “What was that?”

The morning of graduation dawns too bright, too final. Soobin finds you at your locker before the ceremony, looking strangely small in your oversized gown. The gold tassel sways as you turn, startled as he calls your name. His hands are shaking when he hands you a small box into your hands, reading: “Open it later.”

There’s no time to argue or to investigate; teachers hers students toward the auditorium where caps are adjusted and last-minute tears stain yearbook signatures. Soobin doesn’t see you slip away after receiving your diploma. Doesn’t realize you’re gone until he’s standing alone on the rooftop where you shared headphones and secrets—that the crumpled note in his pocket is all that remains of you.

The rooftop is too quiet without you. No hum of your laughter, no rustle of your uniform skirt against concrete as you lean too far over the edge just to scare him. Soobin waits until sunset, then marches straight to your apartment door, fist raised to knock before he loses his nerve.

The door swings open—but it’s your mother. Her eyes rimmed red as she clutched a box of half-packed books that had your handwriting on the spines. His breath hitches when she speaks softly, “Oh, Soobin, honey. She left a few hours ago.”

Behind her, the walls are bare where photos once hung. Your brother mumbles something about a “train to Busan” before Soobin apologizes to your mom and heads back home. He wonders when he’d see you again.

SUMMER OF 1812: The first time Choi Soobin sees you, you’re pressing a stolen knife to his throat in the shadows of a deep alley. His gun is already trained between your ribs. Neither of you move, something in the way his breath hitches makes you lower your blade first. “A doctor’s hands shouldn’t shake like that.” You manage, looking at him with a glare.

His eyes widened as yours narrow, studying him intently. He’s a trained medic, so why was his aim shakier than a cornered rookie’s? There’s a moment where he’s about to deny it, about to say something sarcastic or biting like every other time your paths had crossed.

His exhale comes sharp, frustration cutting through shock. “And resistant fighters shouldn’t hesitate,” he lowers his gun as he glares at your blade—the barrel dipping toward cracked pavement. Something about your gritted teeth faintly reminds him of a memory in the back of his mind.

”Bullet wounds fester faster in this heat.” His jaw works around unspoken words like: (“I swear I know you—“) but instead, Soobin mutters “Take these hands or die trying.”

By midnight, he’s stitching your bullet wound shut with a match light, fingers stained with your blood. Your laugh is weak when he snaps, “This isn’t funny,” but the way your fingers curl into his sleeve is anything but joking. “Stop wasting your energy,” he growls.

The abandoned hospital reeks of antiseptic and rotting flesh. The bullet graze on your thigh is shallow, but in war, even paper cuts fester. Soobin’s medkit is nearly empty—just a roll of gauze and half a bottle of smuggled whiskey. “This will hurt,” he warns. You bite down on the strap of his rifle instead of screaming when he pours alcohol over the torn flesh, but you do let out a muffled groan.

Sweat beads at his temples as you grip his wrist hard enough to bruise, carving crescent moons into his pulse. Neither acknowledge how your breath tangles in the space between ragged inhales.

Dawn cracks open with gunfire instead of the sunlight you’re used to. You shield Soobin from the blast but collapse mid-retreat with three bullets buried where your ribs should protect your heart. Soobin’s yells are soundless over artillery as he drags you behind shattered walls—too late, always too late—while hot blood seeps through his fingers.

”Fuck!” He chokes out a yell into your hair, shaking apart against ruined clothes and fading breath. Your hand lifts weakly to smear crimson color down his cheek, marking what death would steal by sunrise.

AUTUMN OF 1693: You’re kneeling in the palace courtyard with a death sentence bleeding ink down your back. Soobin was the king’s favored executioner—cold as steel and a colder reputation. You’re the treasonous poet who dared mock the witch trials, and they had found your pamphlets nailed to the gates at sunrise.

When he raises his blade to sever your head from your spine, you laugh, wet and jagged from pain but still loud, still defiant as you split blood at his boots. “How does it feel?” Your swollen grin unnerves him more than any scream, “To be everyone else's monster? Never mine, though.”

His sword falters at your words. Midnight finds Soobin slipping into the prison cell he swore to the King he wouldn’t visit after telling him that he wanted your execution to be postponed. Soobin’s hood hides freshly split knuckles as your chains hit the stone floor just before his palm clamps over your mouth.

“You make a single sound,” he warns, voice rough as the dungeon walls, “and I finish what the king started.” Your teeth find his palm, tasting a burst of copper between your lips, but Soobin doesn’t flinch once. His grip tightens, pressing you harder against the cold stone. When he finally releases you, his fingers linger at your jaw for a breath too long—just long enough for you to glimpse at something wilder than pity in his eyes.

At dawn, the king drags Soobin to the scaffold instead of you. You watch all of this unfold from stolen horseback’s beyond palace gates, fists clenched around jade he slipped into your sleeve last night. The crowd jeers as they strip him of rank: executioner falling into a traitor.

Soobin kneels calmly beneath an executioner’s axe that doesn’t belong to him anymore, until royal guards force your name from his split lips like a confession before steel falls. The wind carries his last words to you, he shouts “Until I see you again!” just as the ax descends.

Your stolen horse rears beneath you, spooked by the roar of the crowd—or maybe your own scream that was raw and silent behind clenched teeth. The jade in your fist cracks under the pressure of your grip, its edges biting into your palm like punishment.

His voice lingers in your skull, pushing you forward. The forests are thick with searching hounds and betrayal. Your lungs burn as you inhale the strong wind as your horse neighs every here and then—leaving just as he told you to.

You’re not sure where you’re going, and it definitely wasn’t freedom. It was toward revenge. Until shadows blur and centuries slip through bloodstained fingers.

WINTER OF PRESENT YEAR: You’re walking towards a coffee shop under your clear umbrella, your fur coat hugging you tightly. Soobin is hunched over his laptop, eye bags visible from another sleepless night trying to figure out a chemistry solution. His fingers pause mid-keystroke when the bell chimes and you walk in, shaking rain from your coat.

Something about the way you rub your left wrist where an old scar curls like a crescent moon. It makes his chest ache without permission. Why? You don’t notice him at first, not until the barista calls your name and Soobin practically chokes on his iced americano because he knows that name. Knows it like he knows the shape of every star above him, like he knows which stairs creak in an empty house at night.

Your eyes meet when he lurches his feet too fast, sending sheets of chemistry formulas fluttering to the floor between you both. A single page lands face-up near your boots: doodles of snowballs and frozen riverbanks in the margins. You freeze mid-step, suddenly breathless for no reason at all.

The chemistry notes scatter like fallen petals between your boots and his scuffed sneakers. Soobin’s heartbeat is wild in his throat—why the hell did he doodle snow during an exam review session?—but then you move. You crouch to gather the papers before he can react.

Your fingers hover over a particular messy sketch of a frozen river just as Soobin’s trembling grip crinkles the other pages. When you finally look up, there’s no recognition in your eyes, only puzzled amusement at this clumsy stranger with ink-stained hands. ”Are these equations or art?” You squint at half-solved formulas buried under his subconscious obsession with winter landscapes.

Soobin's mouth moves before his brain catches up—like always. “Neither,” he blurts out, voice too rough. “It’s a—” memory? He can’t remember. His fingers twitch like they want to snatch the paper back. Your amusement and curiosity flicker when he can’t finish the sentence. The cafe noise fades under the weight of something neither of you understand.

A barista drops a tray behind you with a crash; you both startle like gunshots just went off. The papers scatter again in the sudden chaos, but this time Soobin doesn’t reach for them. He finds you in his arms, catching your elbow as you stumble forward into him. His grip is warm and familiar in a way that makes your lungs stutter.

The cups and plates clatter to the floor, small apologies from the barista echoing off the walls afterwards. Soobin’s grip tightens instinctively—anchoring you both against the sudden tilt of the world. His fingers press into your pulse point in a way you’ve felt before.

”I’m sorry,” you pull away, “Have we met before?”

Soobin smiles for the first time you’ve seen—in this lifetime, at least. “I think so.”

Luckily her parents were going to visit their friends house and were even staying the night. So she had a free chance at taking a car up to Seoul and being back before Sunday dinner which was less than 24 hours away now.

At 6:47pm she departed the home in her dads new car that Jungkook bought him for his birthday. This was one resentment she has for her brother, she was old enough to drive but apparently not responsible enough for her own car according to her dad.

Nearly four hours later she arrived in Seoul at the hall that the boys were renting out for the party. As she walked up the path to the hall she could hear “bang bang bang” blasting inside. Reaching the door she texts her brother to come find her. Due to attire, a miniskirt, tube top and a cropped leather jacket, she decides to enter the party instead of waiting in the cold air.

A security guard looks her up and down as she steps in. She bows awkwardly trying to walk past him.

“Excuse me miss, we don’t allow sex workers in here bosses rules” he says putting his arm in front of her. Her eyes widened and she pulls her jacket tighter around herself. “Leave the party now before the cops arrest you for your job and trespassing” he says pushing her back making her lose her balance.

She stumbles backwards in her heels tripping over the mat infront of the door. Her eyes close in preparation of falling on her butt, but she never hits the ground.

The hands on her hips hold her inches above the floor, her face is in the chest of who she assumes is her brother coming to rescue her.

“Thanks Jk” she says bending her legs to allow her to stand up crouching below her brother.

“Sorry to disappoint but I’m not jk” a new voice says to her while still helping her stand the rest of the way. “Names Yeonjun” he says bowing to her after letting go of her completely.

She blushes lightly after seeing his face, along with his blue hair. Which just happened to be her favourite colour, making him even more attractive. She shakes her head getting her out of her imagination of what it would feel like running her fingers through it.

“Jung-sook, Jeon Jung-sook actually” she says adjusting her outfit while skeptically looking at the guy infront of her. Even though he is attractive she can’t let that impair her judgement.

“Are you Jungkook’s sister?” Yeonjun asks tucking his hair back making the blush come back to her face.

“Yeah, I am” she says looking at her phone seeing no text back from her brother. “Actually have you seen him?” She asks gaining eye contact with the semi mystery boy.

“Not recently but the rest of the members are over by the bar” he says pointing to the bar where she can she a bubbly and obviously drunk Yoongi dancing on top of the bar. She giggles and turns back to him.

“Thanks, hey do you mind bringing me in, Mr meany over there” she says pointing her head to the security guard who stands between the two and the party. “Is not allowing sex workers in here and apparently I fall into that category, and telling him Jungkook is my brother won’t help cause then I’m a delusional stripper” she says smiling letting out a small chuckle.

He smiles at her grabs her hand and pulls her into his side. “Well let’s head in now babe” he says pecking the side of her head. The security guard rolls his eyes but let’s the two pass giving up on his job.

Jung-sook let’s her eyes now wander over the handsome boy’s body, his outfit is giving her bad boys vibes but he still manages to look kind. He has black skinny jeans on with a tight white shirt, along with a tight leather jacket that looks very similar to the one she is wearing now.

As they head to the bar she notices that all the boys except her brother is there having a blast, well except Hoseok who is sitting there looking dead tired, understandably after the award show.

She looks back to Yeonjun and sees his eyes already on her. The reoccurring blush again makes an appearance to her cheeks. “Um my brother isn’t over there so could I uh, Um stay with you until I find him?” She asks looking away so he doesn’t see her redness.

“Yeah, want to come meet my band?” He asks brushing his thumb over her hand which is still intertwined with his much bigger one.

“Uh yeah” she says nodding and looking back at him. “What’s your band called?”

“Tomorrow by Together, or just TxT” he says beginning to pull her in the direction of the lounge area.

Four boys are sat in the corner with a spot empty which is presumably Yeonjun’s. The four boys all look up when they see the two approaching. Confusion crosses all their faces seeing their oldest member holding hands with a girl who suspiciously looks like Jungkook.

“Yeonjun you said you were going to find the bathroom not a girl” a tall boy says as he stands up moving towards the two.

“Yeah well I found the bathroom, then saw Jung-sook getting harassed by the security guard so I helped her and brought her here since she couldn’t find her brother.” He says will trying to get past him while still dragging her around.

The tall boy sighs and goes and sits back down between smaller looking boys who have silver and brown hair. Yeonjun sits down beside the younger looking boy with brown hair. Yeonjun tugs on her hand and pulls her to sit on his thigh.

For what seemed like the twentieth time she blushed at his smooth moves. Her whole body is turned away from him and she faces the boys on the opposite couch. Each have an different emotion, the tall one has stressed face, the brunette has a confused and concerned face on, but the third boy who has silver hair has a goofy face on as he looks at the disgruntled boys around him. Especially the one stuck sitting beside the “couple”.

“Introduce yourselves to her, she doesn’t know us” Yeonjun says looking at his band mates.

The goofy smiles boy nods and bows to her, “hello I am Beomgyu” he says smiling to her nicely.

Next the tall boy introduces himself, “hello Jung-sook my name is Soobin and I’m the leader of the band.” He says while bowing.

“My name is Taehyun” the brunette boy beside Soobin says before bowing to her.

Finally the unfortunate boy sitting beside the two waves and bows before introducing himself, “hello my name is Huening Kai”.

“Uh hello, my name is Jeon Jung-sook, and I am Jungkook’s sister. She says bowing to the group and then Huening Kai.

Yeonjun smiles and pulls her waist closer to him. She allows him and puts her arm around his shoulders. Her common sense forgotten after being around a group of nice looking boys.

“So I didn’t get the actually get to watch the award show so uh how’d it go?” She asks looking around the group.

“It went well for us and your brothers group” Yeonjun says looking at her. “We won best new group and worldwide fan choice!” He says smiling proudly at her before looking at his band mates sharing the same smile.

This causes her to smile and get comfier on his lap. “Congratulations! I’ll be sure to watch all of your stuff when I get home.” She says winking at him, the confidence blooming at the comfort she feels around the group.

She receives a smirk and wink back at her. She laughs and hits his chest gazing into his eyes.

The gazing is cut short by arms circling around her hips, ripping her off of Yeonjun’s lap into their arms.

“What the hell are you doing Sook?” Her brothers voice angrily says from behind her.

“I’m getting myself a boyfriend and four friends.” She says flatly looking at Yeonjun’s concerned and shocked face.

“I wanted you to come and visit me not try to get with my junior!” He says pulling her away from the group, “sorry boys I won’t let her bother you anymore” he says turning back briefly before continuing dragging her away to the bar.

She turns her head over her shoulder and she winks back and laughs when Jungkook grabs her head and twists it forward. The rest of the night Jungkook keeps a close eye on his sister and makes sure he sees where Yeonjun is at all times. Once the Txt boys leaves he lets out a sigh and sits down away from his sister who is immersed in conversation with a drunk Jimin.

Yeonjun plugs in his phone to his charger and sets his phone down onto the night table. Moments later is vibrates and lights up causing him to check.

Unknown Number

Good thing drunk Jimin is very honest. Glad I got your number babe 😘

You hope nothing would get in between you two, but your shyness did. It stopped you from being around Soobin when it was just the two of you. Soobin was sitting in a separate couch right next to the couch you were in. He soon got up and he sat right next to you. “Are you okay? You’ve been avoiding me lately.” Soobin confronted as he tried to hold your hand. You were still looking at the ground, with your hand in his. “There’s nothing wrong- I’m just too- “You paused

“Shy...” You continued. You loved everything about him, his voice, his talents, just everything about him, that made him, the person he is now. “Okay? That doesn’t have to do anything about our relationship.”

“I get that your shy, but you could always come out of nowhere, and sit on my lap if you wanted to. You can surprise me at my studio when you get off from work. It doesn’t matter if you’re going to be embarrassed, it’s just the two of us.” He explained as brushed his thumb on your hand a couple of times.

“Think of me as your safe place, your home.” Soobin said as he watched your head turn his way. You did not know what to say to him. He tried his best to comfort you, to get out of your comfort zone. You had the urge to give him something back, trying to make you get out of your comfort zone.

Your bodies were sitting right next to each other, face to face. Soon your eyes landed on Soobin’s lips. You two never kissed, and in fact it was going to be your first kiss that was going to be taken by someone you dearly love.

Should I kiss him?

What if the members walk in?

Should I though?

Would he accept the kiss?

Fuck it, I’m going to-

“Hey, Soobin” You mumbled. “Is something wrong?” He paused. You interrupted him from his sentence, and you kissed him. You were even surprised that he even kissed you back. He nibbled on your bottom lip to open your mouth, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

You two heard the boys laughing and talking up to the door. You laid Soobin down, and made his arm wrap around you, making it seem like you fell asleep on his chest, cuddling you.  

“Woah, you two finally stopped being awkward?” Beomgyu asked as he walked in with the snacks in his hand, while the others came in with a bag of drinks, ice cream, and noodles.

“Wow, the first time in forever you two are finally cuddling.” Yeonjun teased as he set the bag of drinks on the table. “I’m going to get you” you mumbled in Soobin’s chest.

“Don’t you love the feeling of Soobin’s hand on your ass?” Yeonjun teased again as he took the drinks out of the bag. You quickly got up and ran after him through the whole entire the big hit building. Once you finally caught him, you pulled him by the hood of his hoodie all the way back to the studio, the rest of the members where waiting in. He was laughing and making jokes of you and Soobin. As soon as you two returned then made fun of Yeonjun.

“Who knew Y/N was faster than you at running. “Taehyun teased as you walked in with holding Yeonjun by his hood.

As all of you finally got comfortable on the couches, with the snacks and drinks laid out, you all chose a movie to watch. They chose a scary movie on purpose. You were sitting next to Soobin, with your legs on Soobin’s lap.  Every time  a jump scare scared you, you would be so quick to grab Soobin’s hand and hide behind his hand.

You loved the way Soobin became flustered because of you, taking his hand, hiding behind his blanket, and even resting your head on his shoulder giving him small pecks on his cheeks throughout the movie uwu.

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posted by: @xxb1nni from insta and tumblr :D

A voice purrs in your ear. Way too close. You turn—and there he is: sharp jawline half-hidden behind a black mask, lips curled in amusement as he watches Seojoon. Not you, at least not yet. His stance was relaxed. A slow smirk tugs at your lips. You two were way too far to Seojoon, and it was the perfect disguise to inch closer to him. You find yourself murmuring, “I don’t normally dance,” even as you let him lead you towards the dance floor. Closer to Seojoon. The lights dim and the music changes to a sultry, almost languid tune. One of your hands was held in his, the other resting just above your holster.

This was way too casual for you. “What’s your name?” The question rolls off your tongue and you receive a little smile from the man. His grip on your hip never falters once, and the mask of his makes it impossible to get a clear read on his expression. His eyes glint in the chandelier light. “Does it matter?” he counters, pulling you smoothly into a dance. Your steps sync almost effortlessly. You take your chance as he whirls you closer. “Maybe not,” you reply, your voice low.

His grip tightens as he pulls you closer—close enough to whisper: “Names are for people who plan to stay alive.” A threat, or a challenge? Your pulse spikes anyway. The music swells as he dips you low, mask-to-mask, and your thigh brushes his. Your hidden gun presses cold between his ribs through fabric. “Just a joke,” he pulls you back up. The hard muscles of his frame were hard not to stare at, the way they looked through the material of his suit. “You haven’t told me yours either, sweetheart,” his breath ghosted against your ear.

A shiver runs up your spine, but you can’t tell if it’s from the way he called you sweetheart or the feeling that this man—whoever he is—knows more than he lets on. Your voice comes out cool, measured. “I don’t give out my name to every handsome stranger I meet. Especially to ones who sweep me off my feet without notice.” He chuckles at your response, low and smooth as he spins you out before reeling you back in. His hand on your waist tightens slightly.

”Swept off your feet, huh?” He repeats, a hint of amusement in his voice. His fingers skim the bare skin of your back, sending a jolt of heat through your body. “I like to think of it as.. being thorough.” You tilt your head, studying his half-hidden face, wondering just how much thoroughness he’s capable of. The way he moves, the confidence in his every gesture. All of it screams “predator.”

“Thorough, is it?” You move with him in a graceful step, bodies brushing against each other with an electrifying mixture of tension and restraint. He nods, his grip on you tightening as he draws you closer. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, almost see the tension coiled beneath his flawless mask and tailored suit. “Thorough enough to know a few things.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance despite the adrenaline that began to hum in your veins. “Like what?”

”Like the fact that you’re not some pretty, hidden face who came here for the free champagne,” he leaned in, his voice was a rough whisper against your ear, his hand skimming up your back. You gulp something back down your throat. “You’re here for something more.”

As you swallow, the music and the crowd fade away to a distant hum. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours—and you were losing focus of your mission. Yet, the dangerous gleam in his eyes behind the mask was so addicting. “And what makes you so sure of that?” You manage.

His mouth curves into another half-smile, sharp and lethal. “The way you hold yourself..how your eyes search the room.” He spins you out again, the dance was starting to become more of a game than a rhythmic motion. “Tell me, what are you here for, darling?”

You let out a soft, practiced laugh—light and airy, the perfect illusion of someone who belongs at this party for nothing more than champagne and flirtation. “Don’t I make it obvious?” You trail a finger down his tie with deliberate slowness. “A girl can multitask, you know. So, answer this, and I’ll answer you. What made you come up to me for a dance?”

His grip tightens almost imperceptibly on the hem of your dress, but his smirk doesn’t change at the slightest. “Well, well. A woman who not only knows how to dance, but also knows how to play the game,” he whispers, his eyes holding something that looked similar to arousal. “As for why I chose you?” The music shifts once more. He adjusted his grip on you, and you could feel the slightest movement through the thin silk of your dress. “Curiosity killed the cat, I can admit.”

You’re able to feel the press of his concealed blade against your chest as he leans in—close enough that his breath trails over your lips when he speaks. “And I hate unanswered questions.”

The threat is velvet-wrapped but sharp as a razor’s edge. The hand on your hip drifts lower, fingertips brushing where your own gun rests—hidden beneath layers of delicate fabric. A silent, but dangerous acknowledgement washes over him: he knows.

You had the chance to twist away. Maybe the chance to shoot him mid-step. But instead—you laugh, soft and mocking, as if this is all some delightful game. It was life or death. “Careful,” you hush back, “Or I’ll start thinking you’re here for more than just dancing.”

He chuckles faintly, the sound sending a shiver down your whole body. “Oh, I can guarantee that dancing is the furthest thing from my mind, now that you’re in front of me.”

Each word is a challenge wrapped up in a mocking croon. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you can barely hear the music over the blood rushing in your ears. Every nerve and instinct is yelling for you to pull away, but you don’t. A part of you is tempted to let him win this game, just to see where this dance leads. You felt like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s snare—and you’re not sure whether you want to fight or to let yourself surrender to his soft touch.

In the middle of your anticipation, the dance ends—too soon—and before you can react, his fingers are laced through yours in a mockingly gentle hold. “Let’s discuss what’s hidden underneath your dress,” he murmured, brushing his hand against the handle of the small gun. His voice is all polite against his suggestion, but his grip on your hand is sharp. Did he mean your gun, or something more?

You let him lead you away from the glittering crowd, past servers with trays of untouched champagne—until suddenly he pivots sharply into a shadowed corridor lined with unmarked doors. Your instincts scream to grab your gun, but then—

“Trust me,” he breathes against your ear as one door clicks open beneath his palm. The low light inside reveals an office. Leather sofa and chairs, discarded files, and a heavy desk that would bruise beautifully if shoved against it.

His smirk is wicked as he pulls you inside and kicks the door shut behind you both—trapping predator and prey in equal measure when your gun presses to his ribs at the same moment the blade of his knife grazes your throat. If you gulp, or even let a sharp exhale out, it’d cut you. The noise from the main ballroom disappears—sealing out the rest of the world and leaving you two isolated in the office with nothing in between you but the harsh thrum in your veins.

He pulls you with him as he leans back against the desk, shifting so that it presses against your hips—not quite pinning you in place, but enough to make the adrenaline spike in your whole body. You both were playing fire here, and the room suddenly feels far too small for the tension crackling in the air like fire.

”No clever comments, this time?” he muses, his eyes dancing with amusement as he toys with the edge of the sleeve of your pretty dress. His fingers trace the blade at your throat at a slow and deliberate pace, before he suddenly flips it closed with a click and tosses it onto the desk behind him. “Your move.”

You shove your gun into his stomach hard enough to make him grunt.. it aroused you. Then his hand snakes around your wrist, yanking you flush against him so fast that your breath hitches. the desk digs into your thighs as he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Do you want me to disarm you first, pretty woman?”

The heat between you builds a fever-pitch as he crowds into your space—all hard lines and lean muscle pressed against your own slim body, it’s intoxicating. The way your body responds to him without your permission. Your skin craves more of his feel, then way his breathing stutters when your hands tighten on his wrists. His eyes darken as he stares down at you. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he growls, “and I’ll let you go.”

”Maybe I don’t want you to let go.” Your own words startle you, a low strangled rasp that sounds like you’re confessing a sin. He freezes, eyes widening in some nameless emotion before they narrow in a mix of amusement and something else—it looks an awful lot of desire. “Did you just admit that? Interesting.”

You throw the gun you were trembling with seconds ago onto the desk behind you. He watches as the gun skitters across the top of the desk, exactly where he wanted it. His hand drifts up to your hair, then your jaw. His fingers tilting your chin up until your eyes meet his. You two were so close that you could smell the sharp, masculine edge of his cologne.

You don’t have time to react as he grips your hips—rough, almost brutal with need—and slams you onto the desk. Wood creaks in protest as his body cages yours. His thighs were pressing between yours almost on instinct. Your gasp is swallowed by his mouth as he leans in to claim a kiss you hadn’t even known you were desperate for. He tastes like sin and danger, and your body arches up against him, wanting more of it.

His fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss as if he’s starving for the taste of you. His free hand takes your mask off, “What a beautiful woman,” he releases his lips from your mouth for just a second to whisper. You bite his lip in retaliation, hard enough to draw blood, and he groans against your mouth. His hand slides under your thigh to hike it around his waist, carrying you over to the couch.

He places you on top of his lap, the back of the leather sofa digging into his back as you press closer, grinding against the bulge in his lap with fiction that makes heat pool low in both of your stomachs. His breath hitches when you rake nails down his back through fabric.

”Tell me,” he murmurs against your bruised lips, voice wrecked already— “your name?”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking his head back to expose the line of his throat. He groans as you tell him your name and took his mask off for him, wondering if the word went through one ear and out the other. “Now you tell me yours,” you breathe against his pulse, feeling it jump under your lips.”

He laughs—dark, ragged—before crushing his mouth back to yours with force. The sofa creaked beneath you both as he pins your wrist down towards his lap, nipping at the sensitive skin below your ear. “It’s Yeonjun,” he admits against your jaw like a confession.

His hand slides up your thigh, unhurried and pausing just shy of where you need him the most. He felt the way you were soaked up against your underwear. “Say the word,” he says against your collar once, teeth grazing the frantic pulse there. “I’ll stop.”

You arch into his touch, moaning a small “Yeonjun,” already, with your nails biting crescents into his shoulders as his smirk burns against your skin.

”Fuck..” Yeonjun’s breath stutters against your skin when you say his name, the name that no one at this gala should know. His pupils dilate, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “Say it again, sweetheart.” His voice was rough with something wilder than desire.

You whisper his name like a prayer against his lips before biting down on his lower lip until he groans. The hand between your thighs finally gives you what you want, sliding beneath the soft and wet fabric with devastating precision as he growls. Yeonjun almost moans at how tight you are against his fingers, wondering how you felt around him hard. “You’re so wet..” he scoffed, “We barely had any foreplay.”

“Sh— shut up..” You could barely make out those words. His answering grin is blasphemous as you bite back a moan when his teeth tug at your lips, refusing to reward him for his arrogance. He adds a third finger that has you gasping in spite of yourself, curling all three that hits your spot perfectly. “Yeonjun!” You yell, having to throw your own hand against your mouth. “Ngh— harder..” You buried your head in his neck, as if you knew him longer than this moment.

”That’s it baby..” he growls, sucking at your neck. “I want to hear that. How else will I know if I’m doing it right?” Yeonjun’s words are a dark purr against your skin as he marks you, but you swear you can feel the shiver that ran down his spine as you shouted his name in pleasure. He knew he was pushing you—teasing the line between pain and pleasure until neither of you were sure where it lay. “You can take more, can’t you?” he asks, knowing the answer. “I know you can.”

Yeonjun swirls his fingers around your soft, wet pussy. You’re already at the edge. “Oh my.. god—” You whimpered. He realized how teasing he was already. “Okay, that’s enough,” he lifted your head with his free hand, making eye contact with you. “Let me reward that pretty face of yours, baby.”

Yeonjun’s praise is rough, edged with worship as he pulls his fingers free, just to watch your needy little gasp, eyes almost tearing up at the feeling of him pulling away from you. “Don’t cry, you’re being such a good girl.” The world tilts as he manhandles both your hands to his belt, signaling for you to unbuckle it for him.

Your fingers tremble against the leather of his belt, the weight of his gaze burning through you as you fumble with the buckle—too slow for his liking—but you were still out of it from the effect he had on you seconds ago.

”Hurry, pretty lady,” his thumb swipes at your lower lip in a mockery of tenderness. “Or do I need to show you how it’s done?”

The belt finally gives way, and before you can react, Yeonjun’s hand is back in your hair—tight, commanding. “Prove to me why I shouldn’t regret this.”

You almost—almost—whimper at the command, the sound strangled in your throat as you swallow hard. He’s so dominant, so demanding, that you want to put your hands around his neck to refuse to be controlled.

There’s a tension in the air that makes the air sliceable as he stares up at you—a single question in the heated look in his eyes: “Are you going to refuse?”

Your sharp gaze seems to cut something in him. He wants you to refuse, he craves to see exactly how far he can push you—to see if you’ll push back, or if you’ll submit.

”You’re the one on top of me,” Yeonjun admits. Your breath catches in your chest as another beat passes, neither of you blinking. You wonder if he can feel the way you shiver. How your throat goes dry at the thought of his control.

Either way, you pull down both his boxers and pants in one go. His hard dick springs up against his stomach and you take a glance, long enough to memorize each vein that you craved for to destroy your insides. Yeonjun let out a low gasp that only lasted for a fraction of a second. He lets out a low, dark laugh. “Eager, are we?”

”I am,” You nod, taking off your gloves and putting one of your hands barely around half his neck, then your dominant hand around his dick. You could barely hold it, the girth of him surprising you. He lets out a soft groan of your name. “Mmh..”

Yeonjun’s breathing is ragged now, the sound intensifying as you twist your hand up and down. He’s hard, and just the contact makes the world spin for him. “God.. that’s good.” He exhaled, “Faster… ghh!”

His eyes lock with yours, and you can see the battle raging inside him—the struggle to maintain the upper hand while his own body responds with an intensity he can’t control. You bring his dick to your opening, teasing him. He moans out your name, loud. “Please..!” Yeonjun begs, and you let out an evil scoff under your breath. “I need you.” His control was shattering beneath him.

Then, curses tear from his throat as you take him into you, warm and wet, perfect around him. You both moan as his fingers pull at your hair, your nails digging into his back. You both were clinging onto each other as if you were the only things keeping each other grounded. “Shit— shit.. Mm! So good, so warm..” Yeonjun pulls you into several pecks of kisses, feeling way more intimate than it should.

His hips jerk instinctively, but he stops himself last second with a shuddering exhale. “Don’t stop.” The order is more of a plea than a demand now—voice wrecked beyond recognition as his free hand grips the material of the sofa beneath him until his knuckles turn white. As you bounce on him, the sound of your wetness against him, the slapping of your delicate skin against his, and both of your whimpers echo against the room. The couch sounded as if it was going to collapse between the both of you.

The world around you narrows down to this moment. The desperate need that burns through your veins like molten fire. You’re both teetering on the edge now, so close it hurts—and Yeonjun hates that he can’t keep control anymore, that you pushed him to the brink. He was never that easy to push. It was something about you.

His eyes are feral now, dark with a hunger that could devour you whole, And when he speaks, it’s low and as wrecked as his grip on you. When you pull him out of you, he lets out a cry, “I—I said don’t stop..”

“I’m not,” you kiss him on the lips. When you reach down to feel his dick, rubbing it softly, then intensifying with speed: he moans louder. “Fuck!” Yeonjun grips your thigh, hoping it’d stop him from releasing. “Stop—”He begged. “Let me..” He groaned, unable to finish his sentence. “Shit.. Let me fill you up, damnit…” Yeonjun says quickly, he was at the edge.

“Do it,” your whisper was rough with desire, laced with something dangerous. His control snaps like a thread when you jerk him faster. A broken groan tears from his throat as he yanks you back down onto him, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. The feeling of you around him meets his senses again and you both let a cry slip.

He was already big enough that just one single slip inside—and your g-spot was already being pleased. Yeonjun grips your ass under your dress, moving you up and down, harsher each time. “Ngh..!” You cry, “You feel— so good, Yeonjun.. Mmm..”

”I’m so close!” Yeonjun throws his head back onto the couch, feeling his senses tingling. “Cum with me, baby.. Fuck,” The words are a desperate gasp, and you swear you see tears in his eyes—this strong, fierce man was unraveling beneath you in a way you never thought possible. You can practically feel him shaking now, the tension winding tighter and tighter like a coiled spring just before it snaps.

“Mmhh!” The world whites out for both of you—Yeonjun’s release hot and deep inside you while your nails rake bloody crescents down his chest. He could feel your release all around him.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless and spent. Yeonjun strokes your hair in absentminded motions as he regains his composure, his expression carefully changing to indifference but for the lingering heat in his eyes. The tension is still there as you both release from each other, still wanting more.

For a split second, all the masks are gone. He’s vulnerable, raw, real; he looks so damn beautiful. It’s only when he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the barest brush of his thumb that the air shifts back into acting.

Yeonjun pulls your head down, catching your mouth in a long, deep kiss—his tongue tangling with yours like he’s trying to memorize the feel of your mouth. He pulls away after a moment, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

When the both of you open your mouths to say something, the chime of the clock outside echoes like a gunshot through the room. Both of you freeze—chests still heavy and skin still fever hot. Reality crashes back in with brutal force, and you both put your undergarments and clothes back on.

You roll off Yeonjun, reaching for your discarded weapons with hands that almost don’t tremble. His blade glints coldly in the dim light as he tucks it back into his sleeve, all traces of vulnerability gone like it never existed.

The last thing you feel before slipping out the door is Yeonjun’s soft fingers brushing yours as he passes you back your loaded gun. “Let’s do this again sometime.”