Xinsooo

Pairing: Nam-gyu x Female Reader

Warning: Smut

Note: In this story Namgyu and the reader are 17 years old. English is not my native language, I apologize if there are errors.

“They’re fucking idiots,” he spat at last, voice low but vibrating, as if each word burned him. “They think they can step on me forever. They’re dead wrong.”

“And why do you keep hanging with them?” you whispered, barely audible.

He stopped dead. A twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t owe you explanations,” he hissed, kicking a rock that bounced off the curb. “Walk.”

He grabbed your wrist with fingers trembling from contained rage and pulled you at a fast pace, almost stumbling. Ever since you saw him outside your classroom, you knew exactly what was coming. Nam-gyu was a year ahead, but you’d been neighbors since kids. At first he just unloaded words; then, fists against the wall; then, you.

The door to his house opened with a sharp slam and closed with another that shook the frame. He pushed you into his room, turned the key with a click that sounded like a sentence. He threw his backpack to the floor as if it burned; he didn’t even let you set yours down: he yanked it off your shoulder and tossed it into the corner.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice deep, trembling inside.

“But…”

He didn’t let you finish. He pushed you by the shoulders until your knees hit the floor. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, legs spread, the zipper of his uniform pants already halfway down. The room smelled of teenage sweat, cheap cologne, and the rage pouring from his pores.

“Look at me,” he growled, grabbing your chin with trembling fingers. “See this?” He pointed to his own face, red eyes, pulsing vein. “This is what they do to me. And you’re going to fix it.”

He let go of your chin only to fully unzip his pants. The elastic of his boxers peeked out, taut, and he yanked them down in one pull. His cock sprang free, already hard, veiny, the tip glistening with pre-cum. A strong smell, of an enraged boy, hit your face.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered, but it was an order. His fingers tangled in your hair, not gently, but with the urgency of someone who needs to control something. “If you don’t do it right, I swear…”

He didn’t finish. He pushed you forward until your lips brushed the tip. A muffled moan escaped him, half relief, half shame.

“Suck me like your life depends on it,” he said through clenched teeth, voice cracking. “Because mine does.”

He forced you down, slow at first, then faster. Every time you gagged, he tightened his fist in your hair, but his hips trembled as if he feared breaking you.

“Deeper, fuck…” he gasped, eyes squeezed shut. “If they humiliate me again tomorrow, you pay with your throat.”

A thread of saliva ran down your chin. He saw it, and for a second his face twisted: not with pleasure, but something darker. He leaned in, spat directly into your open mouth, and pushed you back down.

“Swallow it all. Everything.”

His thighs trembled. He was close; you felt it in the pulse of his cock, in how his fingers dug into the back of your neck. But just as his breathing turned into a broken gasp…

He stopped.

He pulled you away suddenly, breathing like he’d run a marathon. He clumsily pulled up his boxers, face red, eyes shining with something that wasn’t just rage.

“Not yet,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “This is just beginning.”

He yanked you up, fingers digging into your arms. He pushed you face-up onto the unmade bed; the mattress creaked under your weight. Your uniform skirt rode up on its own, exposing the edge of your thighs and the wet shine between them.

Nam-gyu let out a low snort, almost a cruel laugh.

“Look at you,” he whispered, crouching to brush two fingers over the soaked fabric of your panties. “You got wet just from swallowing my cock. You’re pathetic.”

Heat rushed to your ears. You instinctively tried to close your legs; he forced them open with a sharp slap, hard, but not truly hurting you.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled. “If you’re embarrassed, deal with it.”

He loomed over you, hot mouth on your neck. Not kisses: bites. Teeth sinking in, tongue sucking until it left red bruises. Every time you moaned in pain, he bit harder; every time you gasped in pleasure, he laughed against your skin.

He fumbled with the buttons of your white shirt, not taking it off. Just opened it enough to bare your torso. The white lace bra peeked out; he paused for a second, eyes gleaming with something beyond lust.

“You wore the one I like,” he said, voice hoarse, almost accusing. “Or did you know I was going to wreck you today?”

You shook your head, shy.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He unclasped the front hook of your bra with a snap; your breasts spilled free. Without preamble, he caught one nipple between his teeth, licked it, sucked hard. The other he pinched with rough fingers. A soft, broken moan escaped you.

“Shh,” he whispered against your skin. “Don’t make noise. If someone comes and hears you, you’re dead.”

He went lower. Wet kisses down your stomach, bites at your waist. He reached the edge of your panties and ripped them off in one yank; the fabric tore a little. Cold air hit your exposed pussy, swollen, glistening.

Nam-gyu knelt between your legs. He spread you open with his thumbs, like he was inspecting a wound.

“Look at this,” he said, voice trembling with rage and desire. “Does it turn you on to be treated like trash?”

You just nodded, biting your lip.

He lowered his head. The first lick was slow, from your entrance to your clit, like he was tasting. The second was brutal: flat tongue, hard pressure, sucking until your hips lifted on their own.

“Stay still,” he ordered, gripping your hips hard. “If you move, I stop.”

You froze, trembling. He licked again, faster, messier. Slid one finger in, then two, curling them right there. Your thighs shook; a muffled moan escaped you.

“Nam-gyu… please…”

“Please what?” he asked, lifting his head. His chin was glistening. “You want to come? Or you want me to stop and leave you like this?”

You swallowed.

“I… I want to come. Please.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was the smile of someone who just won a bet.

“Then say it right,” he whispered, shoving a third finger in all at once. “Tell me you’re my whore. That tomorrow, even if they humiliate me, you’ll spread your legs anyway.”

“I’m… I’m your whore,” you said, voice breaking. “Even if they humiliate you… I’ll always spread them.”

He growled, satisfied. Dropped his head again, tongue furious, fingers pumping mercilessly. You were on the edge, so close you saw stars, when…

He stopped.

Yanked his fingers out. Stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You lay there, shaking, the orgasm hanging in the air.

“Not yet,” he said, voice hoarse, eyes dark. “First you’re going to beg for real. And then… then I’ll fuck you until you cry. But you don’t come. Not without my permission.”

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding in your throat, pussy throbbing empty.

Nam-gyu stripped off the rest of his uniform in a hurry, the white shirt falling to the floor like a surrendered flag. His boxers followed. He knelt between your legs, cock hard, veiny, the tip brushing your wet entrance. A shiver ran down his spine; you saw it in how he clenched his teeth.

“You’re going to feel every inch,” he whispered, voice ragged. “And you’re going to keep quiet. If you moan loud, I’ll cover your mouth.”

He spread your legs wider, lifted your hips with one hand under your ass. The first thrust was slow, almost careful; the second, brutal. He buried himself to the hilt in one push. A moan escaped you, muffled against your own hand.

“That’s it,” he growled, starting to move. “That’s it, fuck. You’re mine.”

Every thrust was pure rage. His hips slammed into yours with a wet, obscene sound. He grabbed your hair, forced you to look into his eyes while he fucked you. His pupils were blown wide, black, lost.

“Tell me you like it,” he ordered between gasps. “Tell me you like being used.”

“I… I… like it,” you stammered, voice shaking. “I like being used…”

He sped up. The mattress squeaked, the bedframe banged the wall. His fingers dug into your hips, leaving marks. He was close; you felt it in how his cock throbbed inside you, in how his thighs trembled.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” he gasped.

One final thrust, deep, and he stilled. His body tensed, a hoarse moan tore from his throat as he emptied inside you, hot, pulsing. He filled you until you felt the heat spilling.

But you didn’t come.

You were on the edge, shaking, the orgasm inches away, when…

The sound of the front door opening. Footsteps in the hallway. His mother’s voice, distant but clear.

“Nam-gyu! You home? I brought food!”

He froze. His cock still inside you, pulsing with the last spasms. His eyes went wide, panic replacing lust in a heartbeat.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, barely audible. “Not a fucking sound.”

He pulled out of you in one jerk, a trickle of cum sliding down your thigh. He left you there, trembling, pussy empty and throbbing, the orgasm trapped.

He clumsily pulled up his boxers, face flushed, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.

Your chest rose and fell in short gasps as you watched him struggle with the zipper. Before leaving, he grabbed an old towel from the closet and dropped it on the bed without looking at you.

“Clean yourself up. I’ll be right back,” he muttered, and vanished through the door.

You were left alone, pussy throbbing empty, his cum sliding slowly down your thigh. The tingle of the interrupted orgasm burned your skin. Frustrated. Sensitive. Used.

Anyone would tell you to walk away. But no one understood. Nam-gyu wasn’t just this. Sometimes, when no one was watching, he was sweet… when he wanted to. He’d hug you in silence when you cried. He didn’t say “I love you,” but he showed it with actions.

You finished cleaning up, pulled on your torn panties, checked the small pocket of your backpack. The blister pack of pills: empty. You sighed, knowing you’d have to stop by the pharmacy.

The door burst open.

“My mom went to the store,” he said, not looking at you. He jerked his chin sharply. “Go.”

You left in silence. He walked you to your door, two floors down. The evening air was cold; he said nothing.

“See you,” you whispered softly.

But he grabbed your waist, pinned you to the hallway wall. The kiss wasn’t rough. It was slow, almost shy. His lips trembled against yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his black hair, damp with sweat.

“Saturday we’re going out,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low, vulnerable. “And I’m going to make love to you until you’re satisfied. Not like today.”

You nodded, blushing, heart pounding in your throat.

You shared a quick, almost childish peck.

Pairing: Namgyu x female reader

Warning: smut

Note: English is not my native language, please forgive any mistakes

The neon lights flickered through the worn curtain, dyeing Nam-gyu's skin violet and red, as if the city itself was marking him. The motel was cheap, with a smell of old cigarette and disinfectant, but he didn't need luxury. He needed control. And you, face up, with that pillow under your hips, were his perfect canvas.

His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving red half-moons. Each thrust was a claim. Sweat slid down his temple, dripping onto your chest. He looked at you as if he wanted to etch every detail: the swollen lips, the glassy eyes, the tremor of your thighs when he hit that exact spot.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice hoarse, almost broken. “So fucking perfect.”

You moaned louder, arching your back. Your hands went up to his nape, pulling his damp hair, forcing him to lower his head. You wanted his mouth, you wanted to bite that arrogance he always wore like armor. But Nam-gyu resisted for a second, smiling with that cruel half-smirk.

“Want more, angel?” he whispered against your ear, biting the lobe. “Ask for it.”

And you did. With a broken gasp, with nails scratching his back. He sped up, losing the calculated rhythm. It was no longer just fucking; it was punishment, it was plea. His hips crashed against yours with a wet, obscene sound that filled the room.

Then it happened.

A sudden heat ran through your spine, tensing every muscle. Your walls contracted around him, strong, relentless. The orgasm hit you like a train, tearing a scream from you that muffled against his shoulder. Your legs trembled, your fingers clenched into fists on his skin. You came undone beneath him, completely, without control.

Nam-gyu stayed still for a second. Just one.

Then he pulled away suddenly, coming out of you with a wet sound that echoed too loud. His cock, shiny and hard, throbbed in the air. He looked at you from above, chest rising and falling, dark eyes narrowed.

“Already?” he said, voice low, dangerous. “You finished before me?”

It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, still trembling, sweat cooling on your skin. You tried to touch him, but he caught your wrist midway, squeezing just enough for it to hurt a little.

“No, no, no” he growled, pushing you back against the mattress. “This doesn't work like that.”

He knelt between your legs, opening them again roughly. His hands trembled. Not from tiredness. From rage. From need. He leaned in, licking a slow path from your navel to your chest, biting just below your collarbone.

“You don't decide when this ends” he whispered against your skin. “I do.”

And he entered again. In one single thrust, brutal, to the hilt. You screamed, sensitive, on the edge of pain. He didn't stop. His movements were punishing now, fast, deep, as if he wanted to erase your orgasm and replace it with his.

But his eyes… his eyes betrayed him. Glassy, lost. Every time he looked at you, something broke a little more.

“No… don't come again” he ordered, voice broken. “Not until I say so.”

But it was already too late. For both of us.

He snorted, a guttural sound that came from the depths of his chest, and pulled out of you suddenly, as if your body burned him. The emptiness he left was immediate, cold.

“Are you upset?” you murmured, voice soft, unsure, with an edge of shame you couldn't hide.

“No” he answered dryly, without turning. The lie was so obvious it hurt.

“I'm sorry… I… I won't do it again if you don't ask” you lowered your head, fingers clutching the sheet against your chest like a shield. The heat of your orgasm still throbbed between your legs, but now you only felt cold.

Nam-gyu's phone vibrated on the nightstand. He looked at it with contempt, eyes narrowed, but didn't answer. He sat on the edge of the bed, giving you his back, and started dressing with abrupt movements: boxers, pants, t-shirt. Each garment was a barrier he raised again.

You said nothing. The silence was dense, uncomfortable. You watched him from behind: the muscles of his back tensing under the fabric. It hurt to look at him.

“I have to get back to work” he said at last, putting on his leather jacket. He pulled out a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket and let them fall on the sheet, next to your thigh. “I can't be late. You pay for the hours.”

Without more, he stood up. The door closed with a dry slam that echoed like a punch in your chest.

You sighed through your nose, eyes fixed on the bills. You felt dirty. Not from the sex. From him.

The relationship with Nam-gyu was a disaster with its own name. You met him at Club Pentágono, where he worked as a promoter: intimidating, with that wolf smile that gave you a drink without asking for anything in return. Your friends dragged you that night, laughing, saying you needed to “clear your head.” You never would have talked to him; he was too raw, too dangerous. But something in the way he looked at you—like he really saw you—trapped you.

Sometimes it was absolute shit: he ignored you for days, talked to you, fucked you as if he wanted to punish you for existing. But there were also moments… moments when he stayed after, smoking by the window, telling you things no one else knew. Family problems, work, or bad days.

And you kept coming back. Because beneath all that shit, there was a Nam-gyu no one else saw.

And you did… or so you think.

But everything had its limit. That night, with the bills still warm on the sheet, you took the phone, opened the chat and deleted his contact. The icon disappeared with a click that sounded too final. It wasn't the first time he left you like this; it wouldn't be the last if you kept allowing it. You promised yourself that this time yes.

The days passed. Four, five, six. No message, no missed call. The silence was so dense you could almost touch it. Part of you expected him to notice the absence; the other already assumed he didn't care.

It was Saturday night. You were alone in the apartment, wrapped in a blanket, with a romantic comedy you weren't really watching. Your friends had insisted on going out —“Let's go to the Pentágono, one round on me!”—, but you said no with the firmest voice you could. You didn't want to go back to that place. You didn't want to go back to him.

The doorbell rang. You thought it was the food you had ordered —bibimbap and a couple of rolls—, so you got up barefoot, and opened without looking through the peephole.

Nam-gyu was there.

Your heart flipped, but your body stayed stiff. Before you could articulate a word, he pushed you aside with his shoulder —not rough, but decided— and entered as if the apartment was his. He closed the door with his heel.

“Why didn't you call me?” he asked immediately, voice low, almost accusatory.

He stood in the middle of the living room, leather jacket still on, the smell of tobacco and night stuck to him. He looked at you as if he expected an explanation he already had written.

“I was busy with classes” you said, soft, trying to make it sound firm. Your fingers tangled in the edge of the t-shirt you were wearing.

“Since when is that an impediment?” he narrowed his eyes, taking one step closer.

“I'm in exams” you insisted, lowering your gaze for a second before raising it again. “They're finals. I need to concentrate.”

He let out a short laugh, without humor.

“You always have time to send me a ‘how are you?’ or a fucking emoji. This week, nothing.” He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “What's going on?”

Your throat closed a little. You bit your lower lip, that nervous tic you always had when you didn't know how to say the difficult things.

“No… we can't keep seeing each other, Nam-gyu” you whispered at last, voice barely a thread. Your hands pressed against your stomach. “Not like this.”

He stayed still. Just a second. Then he took another step, invading your personal space without touching you.

“What does ‘not like this’ mean?”

You pressed your lips, nervous, heart pounding in your throat.

“I mean what we've been doing these past months” you murmured, barely audible. “I don't feel comfortable anymore.”

There was a brief, dense silence. Then Nam-gyu let out a short, mocking laugh that made you look up with resignation. You already knew something like that would come.

“Stop saying stupid things” he said, voice cutting.

“I'm not playing.”

“Are you going to leave me?” he arched his eyebrow, defiant.

“We were never together…”

He snorted, and suddenly his hand closed around your arm, strong, fingers digging into the flesh. A gasp escaped your lips from the pinch of pain.

“Never?” he repeated, getting closer. “Then what was all that? Huh? Or did you just want to have a good time?”

“Let me go, Nam-gyu” you tried to pull away, but his grip was steel.

“You're a slut like I always supposed” he said with a sly, cold smile. “That's why you let yourself get fucked, right?”

You let out a whimper when he squeezed your cheeks with the other hand, forcing you to look at him. His fingers deformed your face, lips forming an involuntary pout.

“We're not ending anything” he whispered close, hot breath against your skin. “Did you hear?”

You couldn't speak. Just blink, with glassy eyes.

One more second and he already had you in your room, the door closing with a kick. He kissed you fiercely, without preamble, teeth clashing, tongue invading. His hands went up under your oversized t-shirt, running over legs, thighs, until pulling it off over your head. You weren't wearing a bra. Just panties. His pupils dilated as if he had consumed something, though he hadn't that day.

He lowered his lips down your chin, neck, collarbones, to the center of your breasts. He took one with his mouth, sucking the nipple hard. A trembling sigh escaped you. You wanted to pull away, protect yourself. But your body betrayed: one hand went up to his nape, drawing him closer.

Nam-gyu liked you. More than he would ever admit. He could have looked for anyone at the club, but he didn't want to. His body only responded to you. His erection pressed against your thigh, hard, insistent. Involuntarily, you lifted your hips a little.

“So impatient?” he released your nipple with a wet pop, looking at you with mockery. “I thought you wanted to get away.”

You blushed, heat rising up your neck. He laughed low, and his hand slipped between your legs, inside the panties. His fingers found your wetness instantly.

“I already knew you didn't mean it” he growled, voice hoarse, loaded.

He stroked your folds with torturous slowness, making the tickle grow. One finger slid inside. Then two. You bit your lip so as not to moan. Three fingers filled you, curling upward, hitting that spot that made you arch your back. A soft moan escaped despite everything. He loved that sound; it was his drug.

“No” he murmured suddenly, withdrawing them abruptly, leaving a cruel emptiness. “Today you don't come. You've been very…” he paused, smiling “bad.”

The emptiness his fingers left was an icy lash that ran down your spine, leaving skin goosebumped and belly trembling. Nam-gyu pulled away just enough for the cold air of the room to hit your exposed wetness, a cruel contrast with the heat that still throbbed between your thighs.

“What?” he whispered, breath brushing your earlobe like a burning feather. “Do you miss it already?”

You shook your head, weak, but your fingers were still tangled in his nape, pulling strands damp with sweat. He let out a low laugh, a growl that vibrated against your collarbone as he yanked off his t-shirt in one pull. The fabric fell to the floor with a dull sound, and the smell of tobacco and hot skin enveloped you like a dense cloud. His chest rose and fell fast; the tattoo on his rib seemed to throb with each inhalation, the black ink contrasting with the skin pearled with sweat.

“Take off my pants” he ordered, voice hoarse, almost a rough whisper that scraped your nape.

Your fingers trembled as you lowered the zipper, the metal cold against your fingertips. The fabric slid down his hips with a soft brush, and his erection sprang free, heavy, the tip already wet and hot brushing your inner thigh. He knelt between your legs, opening them with his hands; you felt the air conditioning hit the sensitive skin, a shiver that made you clench your thighs by instinct.

“Tell me to stop” he said, without moving, his hot breath against your navel. “Tell me you don't want it.”

You swallowed saliva; the metallic taste of fear and excitement mixed on your tongue. Your panties were the only thing left, soaked, stuck to your skin.

“No…” you started, but the word broke in a gasp.

“No what.” He leaned in, licking a slow line from your navel to the edge of the fabric, the rough and hot tongue leaving a wet trail that cooled instantly. “Use words, angel.”

“Nam-gyu…”

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down in one yank; the elastic brushed your hips with a snap, and the cold air hit you like a lash. His mouth was there instantly, hot, hungry. A long, flat lick from the entrance to the clit, the rough tongue dragging every fold. Your hips rose on their own, the mattress creaking under your weight.

“Fuck” he growled against you, the sound vibrating straight into your clit. “You taste better when you're nervous.”

Another lick. Then he sucked, hard, until you saw stars behind your closed eyelids. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling, but he didn't stop. Two fingers entered again, curling, while his tongue drew cruel circles; you felt the stretch, the liquid heat building in your belly.

“Tell me” he murmured, without pulling his mouth away, voice muffled against your skin: “who makes you feel like this?”

You moaned, unable to form words. He stopped. Completely. The emptiness was worse than pain.

“Who?” he repeated, raising his head. His lips glistened, swollen, red.

“You…” you whispered, ashamed, blush rising up your neck.

“Louder.”

“You, Nam-gyu.”

Satisfied, he lowered again. But this time it was slower, torturous. Every time you felt the orgasm close —the tickle rising up your thighs, the heat tightening your lower belly—, he pulled back. One finger less. A softer lick. A kiss on the inner thigh that made you gasp.

“No” he said for the third time, when your thighs started trembling uncontrollably. “Not yet.”

He sat up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the wet sound echoing in the silence. His cock brushed your entrance, hot, heavy, the vein pulsing against your sensitive skin, but he didn't enter.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, voice low, almost serious, eyes fixed on yours.

You shook your head, glassy eyes, tears of frustration stinging the corners.

“Then ask.”

“Please…”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me” you whispered, so low it was almost inaudible, the sound lost in the beat of your own heart.

He smiled. And thrust. In one single push, to the hilt. The stretch was immediate, burning, a pleasurable pain that tore a muffled scream from you against his shoulder. He started moving, slow at first, each thrust a deep brush that made you feel every inch, then faster, deeper. The headboard hit the wall with a brutal rhythm, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin against skin.

“Are you going to delete me again?” he asked through teeth, one hand on your throat, without squeezing, just there, thumb brushing your racing pulse.

“No…” you moaned, nails digging into his back, leaving red furrows.

“Sure?”

“No… I don't know…” you admitted, voice broken by a sob.

Nam-gyu let out a short snort, almost a bitter laugh, and stopped again, completely inside, still. The heat of his body enveloped you, sweat dripping from his temple onto your chest.

“Do you think you can decide for both of us?” he asked, voice low, dangerous, hot breath against your cheek. “That you can turn me off like a fucking switch?”

You moaned, hips rising on their own, seeking friction.

“No… I just…”

“Just what?” He stopped again, the cruel emptiness. “Did you want me to run after you? To beg you?”

“No” you answered quickly, nails digging deeper. “I just wanted you to… care.”

He stayed still a second. Then he leaned in, his hot breath against your ear, the smell of tobacco and desire enveloping you.

“And you think I don't care?” he whispered, voice hoarse, almost a growl. “That I can fuck anyone and forget you?”

You didn't answer. You couldn't. He started moving again, faster, deeper. Each thrust was a question without answer. Each moan, a confession.

“Tell me” he growled, one hand lowering between your bodies, brushing your clit with his thumb, cruel circles that made you arch your back. “Who else makes you scream like this?”

“Nobody…” you moaned, the pleasure hurt, the pleasure was everything.

“Louder.”

“Nobody, Nam-gyu!”

He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was something darker, rawer.

“Then why the fuck are you trying to leave?”

You tried to answer, but he sped up, stealing your breath. The headboard hit the wall with a brutal rhythm. Your nails dug into his back. The pleasure hurt. The pleasure was everything.

“No… don't leave” he said at last, voice broken, almost a plea. “Not this time.”

And he kept fucking you. Harder. More desperate.

The mattress creaked under his weight, a metallic moan that mixed with the wet slap of his hips against yours. Each thrust pushed you higher up the bed, the sheet wrinkling under your shoulder blades. The air smelled of sex, of salty sweat, of the skin of his neck when you buried your face there.

Your eyelids grew heavy, falling like lead curtains. The tickle started at the base of your spine, an electric current that rose, rose, coiled in your belly and exploded in the core. Your walls contracted around him, a hot, tight pulse that made him growl against your ear.

“Fuck…” he hissed, and let go.

You felt the first hot spurt, deep, flooding you. Then another. And another. The heat spread, liquid, thick, marking you inside. Nam-gyu gave three more thrusts, slow, almost lazy, as if he wanted to squeeze out every drop of pleasure, before collapsing on you. His weight crushed you against the mattress, his burning breath on your neck, hearts beating in unison.

They stayed like that, connected, sweat gluing their chests. The silence was dense, only broken by ragged breaths. Then he pulled out slowly; the brush was a soft lash, a gasp that escaped you without permission. The emptiness was immediate, cold, but his semen still hot dripped between your thighs.

He fell to your side with an exhausted sigh. Without getting up, he stretched his arm to the jacket thrown on the floor, took out a cigarette and lit it with a click of the lighter. The smoke rose in lazy spirals, pungent, mixing with the smell of sex.

He stared at the ceiling, the orange glow of the cigarette illuminating his sharp features. Then he turned his head. He observed you in silence: the soft profile, the parted lips swollen from kisses, the long lashes brushing the cheeks, the chest rising and falling with each trembling inhalation.

“Come here” he said, voice hoarse, the cigarette between his teeth.

He took you by the waist with one hand, firm but not rough, and dragged you over him. Your breasts pressed against his torso, the skin still hot and sticky. His free hand traced invisible lines down your back, from the nape to the base of the spine, a slow brush that goosebumped your skin.

“Add me back to your contacts.”

“Now?” you looked at him, eyes curious, voice barely a whisper.

He was going to say yes, but the word got stuck. He wanted to stay.

“Later” he murmured at last, taking the cigarette from his mouth and offering it to you. You shook your head; he shrugged and brought it back to his lips.

The silence settled, comfortable for the first time. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, closed your eyes. You felt the beat of his heart under your ear, the brush of his fingers drawing lazy circles on your back, the smoke rising in wisps that smelled of tobacco and him.

“Don't do stupid things like that again…” he said suddenly, voice low, almost a whisper. “Or I swear I won't have mercy.”

You nodded. He didn't see it, but felt the slight movement of your head against his shoulder.

“Good” he murmured.

The phone vibrated somewhere on the floor. A message from the club. He ignored it. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel like moving.

Tomorrow everything would hurt.

Pairing: Minsu x female reader

Warning: smut

Note: English is not my native language, please forgive any mistakes.

He was dragging his feet, each step heavier than the last. His mind was spinning, a whirlwind of blurry images and voices that never shut up. Though one part of him knew where he was, another part wandered far away, as if he were trapped under murky water.

Despite the confusion and dizziness, something inside him had awakened. Now he walked with straighter shoulders, a steadier gaze. He wasn’t afraid. Or maybe he was, but the pills had given him permission to ignore it. That new confidence wasn’t his. It was borrowed. It belonged to the chemical coursing through his veins.

“How do you mean you lost it?!” he heard a shrill voice that echoed like a distant sound.

He stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head just a few degrees over his shoulder, enough to see toward the corner of the bunk beds. There they were. Those two people who, until yesterday, had been part of his “team.” Now they were arguing like rabid dogs fighting over bones.

The brown-haired girl was throwing desperate slaps at Nam-gyu, who covered himself with his arms raised, half annoyance, half resignation.

“Damn it! I already told you they must’ve fallen inside there!” Nam-gyu growled, pushing her away with a rough shove. His voice was trembling. He was sweating.

Min-su watched them from a distance, motionless, almost inhuman. His head tilted. His eyes narrowed. Like a predator studying wounded prey.

Them. The ones who had been loyal to Thanos. Who thought they were stronger. Who never stopped calling him a coward and useless.

Now they were wrecks. Trembling. Sweating cold. Without the pills to calm the fear that gnawed at their insides like worms.

And he… he had them.

He looked at his own hand, where the silver cross necklace hung between his sweaty fingers. It felt cold, but at the same time powerful. Comforting.

For the first time in his miserable life, Min-su had control.

•••

Night had fallen. He didn’t even come close to picking up the food. Sleeping wasn’t an option when every cell in your body screamed for something you no longer had.

You were sitting on your bunk, barely lit by the dim glow of the giant piggy bank that presided over the dormitory like a cruel god. Your right wrist was being scraped mercilessly by your own nails. It was already red. On the verge of being raw. Your breathing came out irregular, ragged. Your legs wouldn’t stop moving, restless, as if they wanted to escape from your own body.

You had tried everything throughout your life. Powders, weed, pills, injections, drops. You could go days without a dose and before you never felt this. But Thanos’s pills were different. Different. As if they stabbed straight into your nervous system.

Your head hurt. You didn’t know if it was from withdrawal or from everything you had seen these past few days.

“Y/N…”

Your name rang out like a gunshot in the darkness.

You startled, lifting your head sharply.

Min-su was standing in front of you. You didn’t know how long he had been there, watching you in silence like a ghost. His gaze was strangely serene.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a voice that was almost neutral. Flat. Without real emotion.

You looked at him coldly without stopping scratching your wrist. You let out a tired sigh through your nose and lowered your gaze, avoiding him.

“What do you care,” you muttered with heavy breathing. There was no strength in your words, but there was an edge. “Get out of here, idiot,” you lifted your head, making a dismissive gesture with your chin.

Min-su said nothing. He just stared at your wrist. Those bright spots of blood that were starting to appear between your torn skin.

“I already told you to leave,” you snapped, a little more irritated, feeling the internal itch increase. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll…”

“Hit me?” Min-su interrupted with chilling calm.

Before you could respond, he reached into his pocket. He took something out. The necklace.

“Are you like this because of this?” he asked, dangling the chain between his fingers and holding it up in front of you. Like a fisherman showing the hook.

You opened your eyes wider. You instinctively reached out to grab it.

He pulled it away quickly, closing his fist.

“You can have it,” he said, leaning a little closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “But you’ll have to earn it.”

You looked at him coldly, narrowing your eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Help me…” he paused briefly, his eyes locked on yours “…hit him where it hurts the most.”

You knew exactly who he meant. Nam-gyu. You snorted. A dry, humorless laugh escaped your lips, a mix of irony and contempt.

“Why? Because he killed your little friend?” You already suspected it. It was obvious.

Min-su fell silent. He didn’t deny anything. In part it was because of Se-mi, yes. But there was more. Much more built up.

“What kind of hit?” you finally asked, crossing your arms.

“One that leaves him much worse off than he is now,” he said with a contained anger that vibrated beneath his controlled tone.

You didn’t trust him. Not entirely. But that rage was real. He wasn’t playing.

“Alright…” you said finally, though doubts buzzed in your mind. “I’ll help you.”

Nam-gyu wasn’t someone you really cared about. You were only by his side because he gave you pills.

“You’ll do what I say,” Min-su murmured in a low voice, without emotion but with a firmness you had never heard from him before.

You rolled your eyes. Between exhaustion and contained rage, you nodded.

“Fine. You give the orders and I obey,” you said with sarcasm, but both of you knew it was true.

There was a heavy silence. Neither lowered their gaze. Though yours was fixed on the cross hanging from his hand.

You leaned forward slowly, reaching out your hand again.

Seeing your intentions, he quickly put the chain back in his pocket.

“You’ll have it when the time comes,” he added with unsettling calm. “But not before.”

You huffed in frustration, watching him sit on the edge of your bunk without asking permission. You looked at his profile. His gaze was fixed on his shoes, thoughtful. Something about him had changed. That new confidence with which he had spoken to you… before he wouldn’t even look you in the eyes. He stammered. He shrank.

Now it was different.

You seized the moment. You leaned forward, your knees on the mattress, crawling on them until you were behind him. You rested your chin on his shoulder, which made him tense up instantly.

“Min-su…” you whispered near his ear. “I really need one now.”

He went rigid as a stone. He turned his face just a little, but not much. He didn’t want you so close. He hadn’t seen this coming.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders without squeezing too hard. Just enough to trap him.

“You know…” you said in a soft, sweet, almost venomous tone. “I wanted to apologize for the things I said. They probably hurt you.”

Min-su said nothing. But his jaw tensed slightly. Because yes. They had hurt him. Every word. Every mockery.

“No need to apologize…” he said without looking at you, his voice controlled. “…if you’re really going to do what you promised.”

You smiled against his shoulder without him seeing it. A small, calculating smile.

“I will…” you whispered. “But don’t make me beg, Min-su.”

He looked at you from the corner of his eye. His expression was hard to read. He wasn’t angry. But he wasn’t surrendered either. He was evaluating you.

“You know what you’re doing, right?” he murmured.

“Of course,” you affirmed, brushing your lips against the side of his neck. “And so do you.”

You planted a slow kiss just below his ear. You felt him hold his breath for a full second before releasing it, as if his self-control was wearing thin little by little.

“A preview…” you murmured in his ear, your warm breath against his skin. “And tomorrow… I plan everything we can do.”

He just listened to the things you whispered in his ear. His eyes stared at a fixed, indifferent point in the room, as if he were seeing through the walls.

“But things are going to change now,” you said softly. “I promise to be good to you.”

You got no response. You only felt him hold his breath, the muscles in his back tense under your arms.

“You could start by trusting me,” you whispered, leaving a barely perceptible brush of your lips along his jawline. “Together we could go far. Farther than you could alone…”

You slid your fingers down his chest slowly, tracing it with intent but without hurry. Feeling his breathing become more irregular.

“I’m not as bad as you think,” you insisted in a tone of false regret. “I’m just… scared.”

No longer wanting to hear more, he abruptly pulled the chain from his pocket. He opened the cross with a metallic click and held out the contents to you without looking.

“One,”he said in a firm, cold voice. “Is that enough for you?”

You looked at the contents. There were only two pills. The last time, before the key game started, there had been four. You knew Nam-gyu had taken another during the chaos, leaving three. But here there were only two.

Which meant the third pill was exactly where you suspected when you saw that new confidence in him.

A slow smile spread across your lips.

“Hmm… so little Min-su was getting high,” you said in a slow, almost intimate voice. It wasn’t mockery. It was… understanding.

“Huh?” he turned his head just a little, confused by your tone.

“Don’t worry…” you carefully took one of the pills, holding it between your fingers as if it were a diamond. “Tomorrow we’ll both take one.”

You held his face between your hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes for the first time. Finally, you left a soft kiss on his nose before pulling back to your bunk, lying down a little calmer knowing you would have something to take tomorrow.

Min-su stayed sitting on the edge, staring at the remaining pill in the cross.

•••

It had been a hectic day.

While everyone ate as if there were no tomorrow, you only drank wine straight from the bottle. Only nine players had managed to pass the jump-rope game.

In your mind, Nam-gyu’s words still echoed: “Damn traitorous bitch!” That’s what he shouted before falling into the void.

Did you feel sorry? No. He really wasn’t someone who deserved pity.

Your gaze went to the corner where the guard was feeding that baby who was now an orphan after her mother died falling into the void. It was a shame she was born here, in this hell. And above all, it disgusted you to know that most people here wanted to murder the only pure thing in the place.

You weren’t a saint, of course. But the truth was you didn’t care about dying here either. Hearing the baby’s little sounds, you decided to vote to leave. It was useless. It was three against the rest who wanted to win the money.

You looked at Min-su, who was at his table trying to eat. He barely touched the food. It was clear the withdrawal was hitting him hard now. He was trembling slightly. His eyes were lost, glassy.

You no longer felt that way. It was probably because you were already accepting your end.

Later, when everyone had fallen deeply asleep from stuffing themselves with food and drowning in wine, you were still awake.

You stared at the crib next to the empty bed of the man who took care of the baby; he’d left a few minutes ago with the guard.

You glanced beside you. Min-su lay curled in a fetal position, hugging himself. Trembling. Lost somewhere inside his own mind.

You sighed. Without overthinking it, you stood and padded barefoot toward him.

“Min-su…”

He didn’t move. His eyes opened slowly and he looked up at you from below, like a wounded animal.

“I can’t sleep,” you murmured, sitting beside him on the edge of his bunk and leaning in.

Min-su swallowed, unsure what to say or do. He only stared with those empty, bloodshot eyes.

“No one’s sleeping here, honestly,” he croaked.

“It’s hitting you hard,” you said with a touch of pity, but no softness. It was a fact, not comfort.

He nodded once. Slowly. Defeated.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, watching his trembling profile. Then you spoke, your voice lower, almost a whisper.

“Tomorrow’s the last game.”

Min-su closed his eyes.

“I know.”

“And we both know we’re not getting out of here,”you said bluntly, without drama. Just raw truth. “Tomorrow we die. Because those idiots have it planned,” referring to the ones who chose to stay.

He didn’t answer. But his breathing grew heavier.

“So…” you leaned closer, your shoulder brushing his. “Why spend it like this? Trembling? Feeling like you’re dying inside?”

Min-su opened his eyes and glanced at you, confused.

“This could be our last night,” you went on, your voice softer, more human. “The last time we feel anything but fear. Or pain. Or that shit in our heads that won’t leave us alone.”

He stared at you now, pupils blown wide.

“What are you saying?”

“That we could enjoy it,” you said simply, no games this time. No manipulation. “Feel good. Physically and mentally. Even if it’s just for a few hours. Before everything ends.”

Min-su froze. Processing your words.

“Why?” he finally asked, voice barely audible. “Why me”

You gave a faint, tired smile.

“Because you’re the only one left who doesn’t disgust me,” you said with brutal honesty. “And because… I think you feel the same.”

He looked away, uncomfortable. But he didn’t push you off when you placed your hand over his, trembling against the mattress.

“Besides…” you added lower, thumb brushing his knuckles. “We’ve got nothing left to lose. Right?”

Min-su closed his eyes.

“No…” he whispered at last. “Nothing left.”

“Then let me stay here,” you said, slowly lying down beside him on the narrow bunk. “Just tonight. Without thinking about tomorrow.”

He said nothing. But he didn’t stop you when you rested your head on his trembling shoulder.

For the first time in days, neither of you felt completely alone.

And in this hell, that was the closest thing to peace either of you could get.

Ragged breaths echoed in the empty bathroom, especially his.

Their lips danced together, kissing with a strange mix of desperation and clumsiness. Without pulling away, you took his trembling hands and placed them on your hips, guiding him.

Min-su knew what was coming. He’d never been one for relationships. And the last time he’d done this was so long ago he barely remembered. Only blurry fragments remained, no faces, no names.

You slid his blazer off his shoulders, leaving him in his wrinkled white shirt. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Your hands went to your own buttons, undoing them one by one, slowly, so he could watch.

He swallowed hard as you revealed your skin inch by inch. Your black lace bra contrasted against your skin.

Min-su held his breath, eyes locked. His pupils were blown—not just from the drugs, but something more primal.

“Don’t worry…” you said hoarsely, tossing your blouse somewhere onto the floor. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Everything was hungry kisses and clumsy groping. Every so often Min-su let himself go, but he stayed shy. His hands hesitated on your skin, as if unsure he had permission to touch.

Then, with a sudden move you didn’t expect, he pushed you off him with firm hands on your shoulders.

You looked at him, a little confused. Was that his limit?

But you sighed when suddenly you were the one pinned against the cold tile wall. He’d spun you with more strength than you thought he had.

Now he seemed more confident. The drugs. The desperation. Knowing tomorrow everything ended.

And you liked it.

You both just let go as the rest of the fabric fell to the floor.

•••

She unclasped her bra and let it drop. Her breasts spilled free; Minsu swallowed, lips trembling, breath a dead weight.

“You just gonna stand there?” she asked, teasing without laughter.

He didn’t know what to do. She took his hand and placed it over one breast. A shiver shot down Minsu’s spine. Timidly, he set the other on her hip, pulled her close, and kissed her again. She sighed through her nose when he squeezed the softness; a jolt raced up his spine as his thumb grazed her nipple. She arched, seeking him closer; her hands tangled in his hair, his nape, his back. The heat of her core pressed against Minsu’s growing erection.

She pulled back a second, pushed him into the stall, and sat him on the closed toilet lid. Standing before him, she slipped off her panties. She straddled him; Minsu’s breath burned her skin. She tugged down his boxers: his cock sprang free. She bit her lower lip. She’d never imagined him like this, and she liked what she saw.

She rose slightly, brushing her folds against the tip. Both gasped. She sank slowly, inch by inch, until he filled her completely. A delicious tingle spread through her belly. She began to rock; Minsu’s hands dug into her hips, guiding her. For both of them it was nameless pleasure. She gave small bounces; Minsu felt he’d finish too soon. He stopped her, kissed her urgently.

Confused, she said nothing; she liked the rhythm. But he didn’t want it to end. He lifted her, carried her back to the wall.

“Minsu…” she murmured, breathless

“Let me… please,” he whispered, voice rough. For the first time he wanted to take charge, to dominate. If he died tomorrow, he’d at least have had this once.

“God… yes,” she moaned, legs wrapping around his waist.

Minsu let out heavy sighs, never stopping his thrusts inside her. She dug her nails into his back; that lit him up more. It didn’t last long: his arms shook. He laid her on the blazer tossed on the floor and kept going.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes… yes,” she nodded, frantic.

She locked her legs around his waist. It was unreal: a night with the guy she’d called an idiot, whom she’d belittled, and now he made her feel so good. Seeing him like this, in control, turned her on to her bones.

“Hmm… yes,” she exhaled, trying to speed the rhythm.

Minsu seized the chance: he kneaded one breast, making her arch. He lowered his head and kissed it, licked, sucked.

“God…” she buried a hand in his hair when his mouth closed over the nipple.

She clamped her legs tighter around him. Each thrust grew deeper; their hips slapped with a wet rhythm that echoed in the bathroom. Her moans fed his ego, his newborn confidence.

“Don’t stop… keep going,” her fingers tangled in his nape.

All that could be heard was the slap of their bodies and the wet sound of his mouth.

“I’m so close…” she squeezed her thighs like a vise.

“Me too,” he answered, releasing the nipple for a second.

“Don’t stop… with your mouth,” she ordered, breathless.

A tingle dropped through her belly, pooling between her legs. She bit her lip to keep from screaming; only a muffled moan escaped when the orgasm ripped through her. She trembled, still sensitive, but Minsu wasn’t there yet.

He let go of her skin, panting, hair disheveled, eyelids heavy. He looked at her: undone, beautiful. He didn’t recognize himself. Wordlessly, he flipped her onto her stomach. She understood instantly and braced on her knees. Deep down she didn’t want it to end; this version of him had her hooked.

“Oh, God…” she moaned as he slammed in, rougher.

Minsu lost himself in the curve of her back. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt in control. One hand rubbed her hip; the other cracked against her skin with a sharp echo.

“Yes…” she gasped.

It wasn’t play: it was firm, synced with every thrust. He discovered the brunette lit up under this urgency, this need to be wanted by him.

“Harder…” she begged between gasps. “You can go harder.”

He obeyed. She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream. Seeing it, Minsu leaned in, wrapped her hair in a fist, and pulled—firm, not cruel.

“Ah… Minsu…” her head fell back.

A few more strokes and he hit his limit. He growled, emptied inside her. His breath burned in his chest. He gently released her hair, sighed, and pulled out; she let out an empty gasp.

He collapsed onto her chest. He braced his palms on the floor, steadying himself as air returned to his lungs.

Both lay on the cold bathroom floor, breaths still ragged, trying to return to normal. The crumpled green blazer beneath their naked bodies was the only thing separating them from the icy tiles.

Min-su lay on his back, staring at the ceiling where the fluorescent lights flickered weakly. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath. Sweat traced paths down his forehead. His black hair was completely disheveled.

You lay beside him, also on your back, one arm draped over your forehead covering your eyes. You felt your heart pounding against your ribs, as if it wanted to escape.

Neither said anything for several minutes.

Only the low hum of the lights and their breathing filled the space.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“I didn’t expect that,” you said in a hoarse voice, almost amused. But there was something more in your tone. Something vulnerable.

Min-su turned his head just enough to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

“What didn’t you expect?” he asked in a deep voice, still catching his breath.

“That you’d be… like this,” you admitted, lowering your arm to meet his gaze too. “I thought you’d be… I don’t know. Different.”

“Me neither,” he murmured, eyes returning to the ceiling. “I didn’t know I could be like this.”

Another pause. Shorter this time.

“The drugs?” you asked directly, no beating around the bush.

Min-su closed his eyes.

“In part,” he admitted with brutal honesty. “But not just that.”

You rolled onto your side, propping your head on your hand to see him better. He still wouldn’t look at you, lost in his own thoughts.

“Then what?” you pressed gently.

He opened his eyes slowly. This time he did look at you. Really looked.

“Tomorrow I’m going to die,” he said with chilling calm. “And I wanted… even if just once… to not feel like shit. To not feel invisible. Or a coward. Or useless.”

His voice cracked just slightly at the end.

Your chest tightened.

“You’re not invisible,” you said, and this time it wasn’t manipulation. It was true. “Not to me. Not after this.”

Min-su swallowed. His eyes glistened faintly, but he blinked quickly to hide it.

“You all treated me like trash,” he murmured without bitterness, just stating a fact. “Thanos. Nam-gyu. You…”

You didn’t deny it. There was no point.

“I know,” you admitted, lowering your gaze. “And I’m sorry. For real.”

He let out a long sigh.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said finally. “They’re dead. And we… probably will be too in a few hours.”

You reached out slowly, hesitating just a moment before placing your hand over his. His fingers were cold. They trembled faintly.

He didn’t pull away. He turned his hand to lace his fingers with yours.

“Do you think it’ll hurt?” you asked quietly. “Dying, I mean.”

Min-su thought for a moment.

“I hope not,” he whispered. “But probably yeah.”

You laughed without humor. He let out a dry chuckle too.

“At least we won’t have to pretend anymore,” you said, squeezing his hand. “We won’t have to act like we’re strong.”

“I was never strong,” he murmured.

“Me neither,” you admitted. “I was just faking it. Like everyone here.”

Another silence. Warmer this time.

“Hey, Min-su…” you said after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For tonight. For… making me feel something that wasn’t fear.”

He turned his head fully toward you. His dark eyes studied you with a new intensity.

“Thank you too,” he said softly. “For not seeing me as the coward everyone else does.”

You leaned in slowly and planted a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. He watched you for a moment, his dark eyes memorizing the instant.

And then he joined his lips to yours again.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his body hover over yours once more. His lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, between your breasts, your abdomen…

Each kiss was slow. Deliberate. As if he had all the time in the world when you both knew he didn’t.

When he reached lower, you let out a trembling sigh.

You looked down at him, and what you saw in his eyes surprised you: devotion. As if, in this moment, you were the only thing that mattered in the entire damn world.

He kissed the inside of your thighs, hands digging into your hips.

As he moved lower, a warm breath grazed you. You sighed when his tongue touched that aching spot for the first time.

You closed your eyes.

He began to wet you, slow, insistent.

The tip of his tongue pressed your clit, deliberate circles, growing firmer.

“Like that… just like that…” you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly.

One finger slid inside you, then another; they curled upward, matching the exact rhythm of his tongue.

“Minsu… God…” you arched your back, spine a taut bridge.

You wanted speed, you wanted to explode, but he kept the pressure steady, the rhythm relentless. Your legs shook.

“Don’t stop… please don’t stop,” you begged, voice breaking.

He had no intention of stopping. He sped up just enough for you to feel the difference. Your hips lifted on their own; he held them firmly, preventing escape.

His fingers slid in and out slowly, paused inside, massaged the entrance, explored around. Sometimes his tongue dipped into you, other times it licked from bottom to top, a long stroke that made your hips circle. This time he let you move.

He sucked your clit gently, released, sucked again. Steady, hypnotic rhythm.

A wave of heat swept your belly; an electric tingle pooled between your legs. You were on the edge.

Your thighs clamped around his head—reflex, not control. He didn’t move; just gripped you tighter, letting you squeeze.

Your breath came in gasps. Your hands left his hair and clawed the blazer, crumpling it.

A long, guttural moan tore from your throat as release crashed through you.

Your breathing was chaos, chest heaving in waves. Minsu didn’t stop; he licked softer, but without pause.

“Minsu… wait… it’s too much.”

He eased the pressure, barely a brush of tongue, but didn’t pull away.

“Please… stop…”

Truth was, he wanted to prolong your torment. After the contempt of these past days—cold stares, cutting silences—this was his revenge. Nam-gyu had already paid for Semi; now it was your turn.

Pairing: Nam-gyu x female reader.

Warning: Smut.

Note: English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, I apologize and please let me know.

The games had started hours ago, but your anxiety didn’t go away. If anything, it had gotten worse since that purple-haired rapper decided to “adopt” you into his team.

Thanos had seen you among the crowd of players for what you were: a lamb lost among wolves. And he hadn’t wasted time in claiming you as his.

He always had an arm around your shoulders, his hands wandering over your waist with a familiarity you hadn’t allowed. He dedicated improvised raps to you that sounded romantic. He constantly flirted with you, and every time you tried to get close to Se-mi or Min-su, he pulled you away with some excuse.

“My girl doesn’t need to talk to others,” he said with that smile that never reached his eyes. “I give you all the attention you need.”

And Nam-gyu… Nam-gyu hated you for it.

Or at least that’s what you thought. His looks were icy daggers every time Thanos touched you. He ignored you or rolled his eyes.

But there was something in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t noticing. Something that wasn’t pure contempt.

Thanos had begun to be more possessive, more direct.

“You’re mine,” he whispered in your ear during meals, his hot breath against your neck. “Here, I protect you, and you belong to me. Do you understand?”

You only nodded, swallowing the discomfort, because what other option did you have?

But that night, after the second game, things escalated.

You had gone to the bathroom with the excuse of “needing privacy to talk.” But talking wasn’t what he had in mind.

His kisses were intense, and although your body responded by instinct, your mind screamed that it wasn’t wise. His hands explored your body as if it was his right, pulling out small gasps from you that got lost among the cold tiles.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your lips. “My little and perfect doll.”

You didn’t know that Nam-gyu had entered the bathroom. You didn’t know that he had heard every sound, every soft gasp Thanos had dragged out of you. You didn’t know that his fists had clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

When you returned, he accompanied you to your bed with kisses on the forehead and sweet poisoned promises. You lay down feeling confused, but grateful that it had been only kisses and caresses.

Nam-gyu waited. He waited until the rapper fell asleep. Then he approached your bed.

“Nam-gyu…” you murmured when you saw him materialize in the shadows.

“You’re a bitch, aren’t you?” he murmured with that mocking smile that froze the blood.

Before you could protest, he placed himself on top of you, his weight keeping you pinned against the thin mattress. His hands captured yours, holding them prisoner above your head.

“What did we say?” his hoarse voice was close to your face, his breath mixing with yours.

“He didn’t touch me…” you began to lie, but the lie died on your lips when you saw the darkness in his eyes.

“Stop lying,” he growled, and his free hand went to your face. “He was kissing you, wasn’t he?”

A small whimper escaped your lips when his fingers pressed against your cheeks, forcing your lips into an involuntary pout.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost a purr. “Do you think that idiot is really going to take care of you?”

His eyes traveled over your face, stopping at your parted lips.

“He plays with you because he likes you now,” he continued, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “But when he gets bored, what do you think will happen?”

Your breathing had turned uneven, you didn’t know if from fear or from something more disturbing.

“I… I didn’t want to…” you whispered.

“Shh.” His index finger sealed your lips. “You don’t need to lie to me. I know what you are.”

He leaned closer, so close you could count each eyelash, see every golden fleck in his dark eyes.

“You’re the kind of girl who melts with a little attention, right?” he murmured against your ear. “The kind who says no but whose body says yes.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and you hated the way your body betrayed your mental protests.

“Nam-gyu, please…” but your voice came out more as a plea than as a protest.

He smiled, that smile that was half sweetness and half threat.

“Please what?” his lips brushed your earlobe. “Please don’t stop, or please do stop?”

His free hand had moved down, tracing invisible lines along your arm, your side, stopping right at the edge of where decency turned into forbidden territory.

“Thanos thinks you’re his,” he murmured. “But I know the truth.”

“What truth?” you asked without thinking, your voice barely audible.

His eyes met yours, intense and dangerous.

“That you don’t belong to him. That you don’t belong to anyone… yet.”

The implication hung in the air like both a promise and a threat.

“But I could change that,” he continued, his voice so low you had to strain to hear it. “I could make you mine for real. Not like him, playing at being your little boyfriend. For real.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“What… what do you mean?”

Instead of answering with words, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. It wasn’t like Thanos’s kisses—demanding and possessive. This was different. Controlled but intense, as if he were marking territory instead of simply taking what he wanted.

When he pulled back, your lips were swollen and your mind confused.

“This is what’s going to happen,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to keep being Thanos’s good girl during the day. You’re going to smile at him, you’re going to let him touch you, you’re going to do everything he wants.”

His words sent a shiver of anticipation mixed with fear through you.

“But at night,” he continued, his voice taking on a darker tone, “you belong to me. Completely.”

“I can’t…” you began to protest, but he sealed your words with another kiss, this one more intense than the last.

“Yes, you can,” he murmured against your lips. “And you will. Because deep down, you know I’m the only one who truly sees you.”

His hand slid across your cheek, surprisingly tender after all that intensity.

“Thanos sees a pretty toy,” he whispered. “I see the woman you could be if someone knew how to… awaken her.”

His words struck you somewhere deep you hadn’t known existed.

“Do you understand the rules?” he asked, his eyes searching yours in the dim light.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the approval in his voice sent waves of heat through your body. “Now sleep. Tomorrow you have to act like the perfect little princess.”

He moved away from you as silently as he had come, leaving you with your heart racing and your mind spinning.

As you lay down in the darkness, a part of you was horrified by what had just happened. But another part, a part you had kept buried your whole life, whispered that maybe, just maybe, Nam-gyu was right.

Maybe there was more to you than you had allowed the world to see.

•••

Everything could change in minutes. Yesterday the team was complete, and today, after the third game, the board changed completely. And then there was what had happened in the bathrooms.

Myung-gi ended up killing Thanos in self-defense.

Nam-gyu barely noticed because he was busy beating up another guy, but when he finally processed what had happened, something strange ran through his mind. It wasn’t pain he felt. It wasn’t loss.

It was pure satisfaction.

Now he had the pills all to himself. He no longer had to hear him call him “Namsu” in front of others, constantly belittling him. And more important than anything: now he had the path completely clear to you.

Why should he be affected by the death of someone who had never really respected him? Now, finally, he was free to claim you without interference.

Of course, he couldn’t talk to you because you were on different sides. You had voted to leave together with Se-mi and Min-su, while he had chosen to stay. But that was only a temporary obstacle.

During lights out, Nam-gyu had gone out with a clear purpose. He knew that Se-mi and Min-su would be with you, protecting you, being your allies. He couldn’t allow that.

He found Se-mi first, and he didn’t hesitate for a second to eliminate her. Her screams got lost in the night’s chaos. One less threat.

One less voice that could fill your head with ideas about how dangerous he was.

Then he found you, just as some guy had you by the neck, strangling you with brutal force. Nam-gyu arrived just in time, of course. He always arrived in time for you.

But when he saved you, covered in fresh blood that wasn’t only your attacker’s, with the fork still dripping in his hand, he saw something in your eyes that hit him like a punch.

Terror. Towards him.

And fuck, he liked it more than he should have.

•••

The next day they announced the new game.

The rules were brutally simple. The blues had to hide in the maze and find the exit. The reds, armed with daggers, had to hunt and kill a blue to advance.

You were assigned a red vest, and the weight of the weapon in your hands felt like carrying your own curse.

You didn’t know which option was worse, but there was something you knew with absolute certainty: you were incapable of killing someone. The very idea made your stomach turn.

You sighed softly as you held the dagger on your lap, its edges reflecting the cold lights of the ceiling. How were you supposed to use this against another person?

“Hey, y/n…”

That voice sent shivers running straight down your spine. You looked up only to see Nam-gyu approaching, also dressed in red, his own dagger hanging casually from his hand as if it were a natural extension of his body.

Of course, he had gotten the same team. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

“Have you ever killed someone?” He knelt in front of you, putting himself at your level so he could look you directly in the eyes.

You shook your head, feeling pathetically vulnerable under his intense gaze.

“Oh, that’s right,” he let out a short laugh that held no real humor. “You wouldn’t be able to kill even a fly.”

His words were a factual observation, but the way he said them… there was something almost tender in his tone, as if your inability for violence was something adorable instead of a fatal weakness.

“Relax,” he continued, his voice dropping to that hoarse register that always made your skin rise involuntarily. “Just stay with me and we’ll get through the game together… I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

The promise in his words was simultaneously comforting and absolutely terrifying.

“I think it would be best if I switch teams.” You stood up quickly, your basic survival instinct screaming at you to run from him.

But his hands immediately closed around your thighs, keeping you firmly in place.

“No.” He narrowed his eyes, and you could see a dangerous glint shining in them. “I’m not going to let you ruin this.”

His voice had taken on that tone you knew too well: the one he used when he had made a final decision and there was no room for debate.

“But I don’t want to kill anyone,” you protested.

“They’ll tear you to pieces if they see you in a blue vest,” he declared with brutal practicality that froze you completely. “At least with me you have a real chance to survive.”

His thumbs traced unconscious circles over the fabric of your thighs, a gesture that in another context might have been comforting.

“If you play your cards right, it won’t be that bad.” He shrugged as if he were discussing something mundane like the weather.

You frowned slightly, processing his words. There was something in his tone that was too casual, and it set your nerves on edge.

“This is already mine to win.” He leaned toward your face, getting so close you could count every eyelash, see every golden fleck in his dark eyes. “All that’s left is you.”

His closeness stole your breath. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you feel as if he were seeing straight through all your defenses.

“Trust me,” he whispered, but it sounded less like a request and more like a velvet-wrapped command.

You hesitated for a second that felt like an eternity. A part of you wanted to run to some blue and switch vests, find any other way to survive that wouldn’t tie you irrevocably to him.

But he was right, and you knew it. Your options were limited and all of them brutal. And at least with Nam-gyu, you wouldn’t be completely alone facing this nightmare.

You nodded slowly, sealing your fate with that almost imperceptible movement.

That made a slow, deeply satisfied smile spread across his lips.

“Good girl, come here,” he murmured with an approval that sent waves of treacherous heat all through your body. Again.

He took you by the waist with firm hands, helping you up while keeping you pressed against him. And before you could fully process what was happening, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was different from anything you had shared before. Softer on the surface, but loaded with a possessiveness that reached your very bones. As if he were officially and definitively claiming you, sealing a contract you had signed without reading the fine print.

•••

The guards led them into a room that revealed itself as something out of a disturbing dream. A perfect maze. Gray brick walls. The ceiling was a masterpiece—an artificial night sky of deep blue, speckled with stars that flickered with cold light.

A familiar arm slid around your waist, interrupting your dark thoughts.

“Hey, babe.” Nam-gyu’s voice was low, intimate, as if you were alone instead of in a battlefield designed for murder. He pulled you closer to him as he guided you toward a corner.

“Look,” he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “He’ll be on our side.” He motioned subtly with his head toward Myung-gi, who was ahead.

You looked back at him as if you were deeply confused, because from the very first day Nam-gyu had expressed visceral hatred toward that man.

“You don’t have to trust him,” he rushed to clarify, reading your confusion perfectly. “Only me,” he whispered to you.

You barely nodded, an almost imperceptible movement that he immediately caught as the victory it was.

At that moment, he pulled something from his pocket with deliberately casual movements. It was that distinctive cross, the one that had belonged to the rapper, now resting in Nam-gyu’s bloodstained hands like a macabre trophy.

“This will help you have more confidence and energy.” He opened the cross with a soft click, revealing the pills that had been Thanos’s vice, and extracted one with practically ritual movements. “Do it… we’ll do it together.”

You didn’t want that. Every fiber of your being screamed against the idea. But sometimes, in places like this, with people like him, you had to do things that went against every survival instinct you possessed.

You looked back at him, and with lips that trembled only slightly from the effort of holding yourself together, you forced a small smile that was more surrender than acceptance.

He did the same, but his smile was completely different: triumphant, satisfied, as if he had just won a chess game he had been silently playing for a very long time.

“Very good,” he murmured with approval that reached your very bones, and hung the cross around his neck. “When the fun begins, you’ll thank me.”

Without breaking eye contact, he brought two pills to his lips, holding them between them like an offering. Then he leaned toward you slowly.

Instinctively, you rose onto your tiptoes so his lips could meet yours, and the world shrank to that single point of contact. The pills between you both gradually dissolved, creating a chemical mixture that spread between your mouths. The taste was bitter, metallic, but the heat of the moment transformed it into something addictive.

His hands settled on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, while you wrapped your arms around his neck, temporarily losing all awareness of the horrible place you were in.

The kiss deepened, until finally you pulled apart, leaving a silver thread of saliva and chemical substance connecting you for a moment longer.

That was when you both suddenly remembered you weren’t alone.

Myung-gi was standing a few meters away, arms crossed over his chest, with an expression that mixed disgust and impatience. His posture radiated silent disapproval.

“Hey, Myung-gi,” Nam-gyu said with a lazy smile, opening the cross again and pulling out another pill. His tone was relaxed, almost mocking, as if he were offering coffee instead of drugs. “Want one?”

“I don’t want it. Let’s go,” Myung-gi replied with cutting dryness.

“I’m being generous only because you killed Thanos,” Nam-gyu murmured as if he were sharing a casual anecdote. “It’s like a token of appreciation, you know? Because now I have what they had taken from me.”

With that last comment, he wrapped his arm around your neck, marking territory in the most obvious way possible.

•••

“Players 124, 333, and 067 pass.”

Your breathing was heavy but controlled, each inhalation a conscious effort to stay calm. Your hands trembled slightly, as did your uniform, both speckled with tiny drops of blood.

You looked at that lifeless body lying at your feet, and a wave of primitive nausea hit you. You didn’t like the feeling at all—the suffocating weight of having crossed that irreversible line—but at least you had passed.

You had survived another day in this hell.

“If it wasn’t him, it was you,” Nam-gyu said with brutal practicality. “Because he wouldn’t have cared about leaving you alive, not even for your pretty little face.”

His words were pure ice, yet carried an undeniable truth that made everything infinitely worse.

You just lowered your gaze, unable to hold the calculated intensity in his eyes, and began obsessively wiping your hands on your pants. You didn’t want your skin stained with the physical evidence of what you had done.

“For a moment I thought you’d faint,” he mocked with a smile that mixed genuine pride with cruel amusement. “But you weren’t bad for your first time killing someone.”

The casual way he spoke of your first murder as if it were an academic achievement made your stomach churn.

“And where are you going?” he suddenly asked, noticing Myung-gi walking away.

“I have to find someone,” he replied without bothering to look back.

“We’ll go with you,” Nam-gyu offered.

That was when Myung-gi stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at them, his expression radiating irritation mixed with something deeper.

“No need,” he said with cutting dryness. “You… obviously want to be alone.”

“Doesn’t matter, we don’t need him,” Nam-gyu replied, watching the other man.

Once completely alone, they began walking through the hallways. Nam-gyu held you by the waist from behind, keeping you pressed against his body as they navigated the treacherous terrain. You felt dangerously dizzy from the toxic cocktail of post-killing adrenaline and the drug still circulating in your bloodstream.

During that winding path, he kept trying to convince you to continue the slaughter, to hunt more blues to maximize monetary gains. It was a proposition your conscience rejected with every fiber of your being.

“Damn it, baby, let’s do it,” he insisted, wrapping his arms completely around your body from behind, pressing his burning forehead against the sensitive curve of your neck. “Think of all the extra money we’d get.”

His physical proximity, amplified by the chemicals altering your nervous system, made your moral resistance feel dangerously fragile.

“I already told you no,” you murmured, but your voice came out considerably less firm than you had intended.

He sighed with palpable frustration that vibrated against your skin, but immediately completely changed tactics. He began planting deliberately slow kisses on your neck, each contact sending treacherous waves of heat through your already completely altered system. His hands started sliding with expert familiarity under your jacket, causing every inch of your skin to bristle.

“Nam-gyu… I don’t think…,” you began to weakly protest, but the words faded as his lips found that specific spot that had always been your Achilles’ heel.

Before you could complete your verbal resistance, an absolutely piercing scream echoed through the maze corridors, cutting through the intimate moment like a blade.

“Shit, they always interrupt the best part,” he audibly frustrated, reluctantly pulling back but keeping his hands firmly on your waist.

But then something changed dramatically. His eyes dropped to your exposed neck, and something in his expression transformed completely, darkening.

Without asking, he tugged brusquely at the collar of your shirt, exposing considerably more skin.

“So this was the thing you were spending so much time on in the bathroom,” he said in a dangerously controlled voice as he meticulously examined the marks Thanos had left on your neck, some extending provocatively further down your collarbones.

“But I tried to push him away…” you began to explain.

Without thinking, he grabbed your wrist with a force that stole your breath and pushed you toward one of the side doors of the maze. The metallic sound of the door closing behind him.

“Kneel,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for discussion, as his hand positioned firmly on the back of your neck.

“But I swear I didn’t let him do anything else…” you tried to explain.

“Kneel,” he interrupted, his cold authority cutting off your words, not allowing you to finish your defense.

You swallowed hard, feeling your throat constrict from fear and something else you didn’t want to name. With his hand guiding you relentlessly, you began to descend slowly, your knees touching the cold floor as you maintained eye contact with him. Your breath came out trembling between your parted lips.

“That’s better…” he murmured with satisfaction. “You know what to do, right?”

His eyes watched you with a predatory intensity that made you fully understand your position: completely at his mercy, in a space where no one could interrupt what he had decided would happen.

His hands in your hair, his hoarse voice giving instructions that you obeyed with a mixture of submission and desire that terrified you to acknowledge.

“Shit…” he exhaled, resting his head against the wall. A twisted smile appeared on his lips. “And to think you look like you wouldn’t break a plate… but you know exactly what you’re doing.”

A growl escaped him before he brusquely turned your face away. Panting, hands on the ground and lips wet, you barely had time to catch your breath when he grabbed your arms to lift you up. His fingers cupped your cheeks and dragged you toward his mouth in a fierce kiss.

Between your mind and your body, there was a brief moment of battle, but the second won. You surrendered to the heat seeping through his uniform, the pressure of his hands, the invasive caress of his fingers. Obscene whispers burned in your ear as your small moans, held back against your will, only turned him on more. You fought for silence, though he delighted in provoking it.

Outside, the screams of horror and the voices announcing the eliminated players echoed through the walls. He was fascinated by that mix of danger and pleasure; something twisted excited him even more as he sank into you.

There was no tenderness, but neither pure cruelty. There was something more complex: a desperate need to erase every mark of Thanos, to replace every memory with his own imprint.

“Tell me...” Nam-gyu said, breathing unevenly and still moving. “Who do you belong to?”

It wasn't a question, but an order.

Your hands were pressed against the wall, holding you up, your body no longer resisting, arching slightly backward, involuntarily seeking the friction that now caused an electric tingling at the base of your spine.

“To you,” you moaned clearly.

With a guttural growl, Nam-gyu sank in completely. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound as you felt him penetrate you hard. Your ass would probably have a mark from Nam-gyu's hand. Your hole was starting to tighten significantly.

His thrusts grew stronger against your ass, causing him to let out grunts of excitement.

“So tight,” he said through gritted teeth, “I didn't know you were a masochistic slut...” Nam-gyu laughed darkly.

You cried as more blows fell on your skin. That was more than enough to make you cum around Nam-gyu's cock.

He growls at the sudden tightness and, with one more deep and powerful thrust, cums inside you. You moan as you feel your insides fill with semen. Nam-gyu sighs with relief and waits a few seconds before pulling out.

Both of you were breathing heavily. Your legs trembled, but you were held up by him.

“Shit,” he let out between raspy laughs. “That was fascinating, and with the screams in the background… don’t you think it was poetic?”

You didn’t respond. Your breathing was still uneven, trying to come back to yourself while your body trembled from the remnants of adrenaline and something hard to name.

The door — poorly closed from the start — opened with a brief creak.

A player with a blue vest appeared in the doorway. Her eyes went wide. If she had already been tense and scared by what was outside the room, what she found inside left her momentarily paralyzed. The silence was heavy for a second. No one moved.

But it was only that: a second. The woman swallowed, took a step back, and disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, slamming the door shut behind her.

You lowered your face, as if eye contact with the world had just broken something inside you. You hid against Nam-gyu’s shoulder, burying your face there, unable to hold the shame clouding your thoughts.

“What? Embarrassed?” he mocked, with a crooked smile as he watched you hidden on his shoulder.

You lifted your gaze, your eyes shining with a mix of discomfort and disbelief.

“Not you?” you asked softly, not pulling away too much, but enough to see his face.

He let out a brief, shameless nasal laugh.

“I’d be annoyed if someone had interrupted me halfway through. But since that didn’t happen…” He shrugged with that arrogance so typical of him. “Let them look at whatever they wanted. At least I gave them something worth remembering.”

You frowned, unsure if you were more embarrassed by what had happened or by how little it seemed to affect him.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur, but without anger. More like a statement of fact.

“Maybe,” he admitted, tilting his head. “But I’m the idiot who decided to stay with today.”

You didn’t respond, just lowered your gaze with a sigh that you weren’t sure was resignation… or acceptance.

Both of you adjusted your clothes in silence, still sensitive from what had just happened. When you opened the door, the dry sound of the timer marked the end of the game.

As you walked, you passed the same spot where the blue-vested player had surprised you earlier. She was no longer standing. The body lay collapsed on the ground, eyes open.

You stopped for a moment, feeling a strange knot in your throat: relief… because you didn’t have to face her again, but also guilt. Because in the end, that woman just wanted to live like everyone else.

Nam-gyu didn’t even look at the body. He only noticed that you had fallen behind.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, without annoyance, but with no softness.

“Nothing,” you replied, catching up to him.

Pairing: Nam-gyu x reader.

Note: English is not my native language, so sorry if there are any mistakes.

• You’ve known him for as long as you can remember. He’s been your brother’s constant companion since childhood—always walking to school together, Nam-gyu dragging his feet just one step behind. At first, you were invisible to him; his eyes slid past you as if you were part of the household furniture. But even then, when Su-bong talked about things a girl “shouldn’t understand,” Nam-gyu never told you to be quiet the way others would have.

• When he came over, they always stayed outside playing. Su-bong only dragged you along on those particular afternoons—when the atmosphere inside the house turned toxic, when your parents’ shouting broke through the walls, or when the smell of your father’s alcohol clung to every corner. In those moments, your brother would take your hand without a word and lead you to the backyard, where Nam-gyu was already waiting with a ball or marked cards. He never asked why you were there, but you noticed how his gaze softened just a little whenever he saw you arrive with your eyes still damp.

• They started including you in the games, and Nam-gyu always found subtle ways to let you win—he would “trip” at just the right moment during races, “forget” the rules when you played cards, or whisper hints when Su-bong wasn’t looking. By then, you already trusted him more, running to him without hesitation whenever you needed an ally in the games. When he saw you happily celebrating another “well-earned” victory, at first he thought it was silly, almost pathetic, how a little girl could get so excited over rigged games. But little by little, the corner of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, forming a faint crooked smile that only lasted a few seconds before he remembered to keep his expression neutral.

• He “just happened” to always bring sweets that “were left over from somewhere”—an excuse so transparent even Su-bong would roll his eyes. He would show up with sticky candies in his pocket, half-melted chocolates, or oddly flavored gum that he had clearly bought with you in mind. When he saw you, he would feign surprise, as if he had just remembered he had candy, and hand it to you with that indifferent attitude that fooled no one. “Here, I don’t want them,” he’d say, but his eyes followed your every move as you unwrapped the candy, memorizing that expression of genuine joy.

• “Gyu”—the first time you called him that, he frowned, but he didn’t correct you the way he did with Su-bong and his annoying “Namsu.” Over time, that name became yours alone, and you noticed how his shoulders seemed to relax every time he heard it from your lips.

• The stolen ball was your first lesson in who Nam-gyu really was beneath that indifferent façade. While Su-bong stayed glued to his video game, ignoring your tears, Nam-gyu disappeared without explanation. He came back twenty minutes later, ball in hand and knuckles slightly scraped. The next day, when you saw the boy with the black eye run away at the sight of you, you understood that Nam-gyu had fought for you—something not even your own brother had done.

• When you turned eight and your parents completely forgot, Su-bong only muttered a distracted “happy birthday” while staying focused on his video game. But that afternoon, Nam-gyu showed up with a cheap bracelet he had gotten from a vending machine at the mall—he had probably spent all his coins until he found one he thought looked pretty enough for you. He slipped it onto your wrist with unusual care, his fingers clumsy but gentle as he fastened the clasp. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze, but the way you held onto it as if it were the most precious gift in the world made something stir in his chest, something he didn’t know how to name.

• When he and your brother were thirteen, their conversations started to include topics that felt strange and uncomfortable to you—they talked about girls in their class with a new kind of intensity, made comments about bodies that made you blush without understanding why, or told crude jokes that were clearly not meant for you to grasp. You just sat there, bored and a little confused, listening to words that seemed to belong to a world you didn’t yet have access to. That night, you went to your mother and asked if you could start wearing skirts and leave behind such “childish” clothes.

• And so the first years passed—when they turned seventeen and the house was empty in the afternoons, everything shifted subtly. They would settle onto the worn-out couch in the living room, and the sweet, pungent smell of weed became part of the atmosphere. You watched them from the doorway: Su-bong laughing at anything with glassy eyes, and Nam-gyu leaning back against the cushions, more relaxed than you had ever seen him.

“Come here, little one” Nam-gyu would say in a sluggish voice, holding the joint out to you with a mocking smile “You’re old enough for this now”

But you only looked at him with a mix of disgust and curiosity, shaking your head while he shrugged before taking another deep drag.

• At thirteen, you began to change physically, and although it was subtle, Nam-gyu started noticing in ways he didn’t fully understand. You were no longer just “Thanos’s little sister”—there was something different in the way you walked, in how you tied your hair back when it was hot. He tried to ignore it, focusing on his conversations with your brother, but every now and then you caught him watching you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

• The fights at home became more frequent, and with them, your appearances during their “relaxation” afternoons. Nam-gyu began asking about you whenever you didn’t show up for a few days, with a casual tone that fooled no one. “And your sister? Is she okay?” he would ask Thanos, who only shrugged, saying you were either locked in your room studying or avoiding the family drama.

• One afternoon of torrential rain, when you were fourteen, you arrived soaked and shivering after running all the way from school. Without a second thought, Nam-gyu took off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders. The gesture was so natural that the three of you fell silent for a moment. You looked at him in surprise, he quickly averted his gaze, and Thanos watched you both with a strange expression he couldn’t quite interpret.

• You started staying longer when they smoked, not because you were interested in joining, but because it was the only time the house was truly quiet. You would sit in the single armchair, pretending to look at your phone, but in reality, you were listening to their conversations about girls, about how much they hated school. Nam-gyu began to soften his language when you were around, avoiding the harsher curses.

• On your fifteenth birthday, Nam-gyu showed up with a small gift. It was a cheap bracelet he had bought from a vending machine, but he gave it to you with a nervous smile you had never seen on him before. “So you won’t say I never give you anything.” You wore it for months, until it broke, but you never threw it away.

• You started putting more effort into your appearance when you knew he would be coming over. At first, it wasn’t something conscious—you would wear that blouse that flattered you, brush your hair a little more, apply the lip gloss you had stolen from your mother’s purse. Your brother never noticed, but Nam-gyu did. His eyes lingered a second longer than necessary when you entered the room, and he had begun to give small compliments: “You smell nice today,” “That color looks good on you,” remarks that made your stomach fill with butterflies.

• That day after class, you were laughing with a boy from your class who always lent you his notes and saved you a seat at lunch. He was genuinely kind—too much, maybe—with that shy smile that made other girls sigh. You found him cute in that innocent way that didn’t complicate things. But when you reached the school gates and saw Nam-gyu leaning against a post, with that relaxed stance that fooled no one, the atmosphere shifted completely. You said goodbye to Jae-min with a smile that felt forced, and as you walked toward Nam-gyu, you noticed his eyes following your classmate until he disappeared.

“Who was that?” he asked in a casual tone that didn’t match the tension in his jaw.

“Just a friend from class” you replied, but something in his gaze made you add “Jae-min. He’s really sweet.”

Nam-gyu nodded slowly, making no further comment, but you noticed the way his hands tightened into fists inside the pockets of his jacket.

• His appearances at the school gates became religiously punctual. “You get out so late, it’s dangerous for you to walk alone,” he would say, but both of you knew that wasn’t the whole truth. It was his way of making sure no other boys were waiting for you, of marking his territory without saying it outright. The walks home grew longer—you no longer went straight back, but took winding routes, stopping at little food stalls where he bought you your favorite snack, or at park benches where you could talk without interruptions. The trust between you grew to the point where it felt natural for him to slip his arm around your shoulders, to carry your backpack without being asked—gestures that any onlooker could easily misinterpret.

• The boundaries began to blur in ways you both pretended not to notice. First, it was his hand finding yours as you walked, fingers laced together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Then came the hugs from behind when you were distracted reading or watching TV, his arms circling your waist with a familiarity that made your heart race. When you sat on his lap during movie afternoons—“there’s more space this way,” you’d say, even though the couch was practically empty—he didn’t protest, only shifted to make you more comfortable, his hands resting on your hips with a subtle possessiveness.

And then came the kisses. The first was almost accidental, a brush of lips when you turned in his lap to say something and found yourselves too close. The second was no accident. Nor the third. Nor all the ones that followed in those stolen afternoons when Su-bong wasn’t there, and you both pretended that crossing that line wouldn’t change everything forever.

• Without words, without awkward conversations or labels, you simply became something more. There was never a moment where either of you said “we’re together”—it just happened, like breathing. Su-bong had noticed, of course. He saw the glances that lingered too long, noticed how Nam-gyu no longer talked about other girls when you were around, how you blushed when he touched you casually. But your brother chose to stay out of it, floating in his own bubble of music and weed. It wasn’t that he liked the situation, but he didn’t hate it either—it simply existed, like so many other things in his life that he preferred not to analyze too much. You knew Nam-gyu smoked, that he experimented with stronger things from time to time, but it didn’t seem like the kind of use that destroyed lives. At least, not yet.

• When he started working as a promoter at Pentagon, his entire routine changed. Afternoons together became a luxury you could only afford at night on his days off, or in those stolen hours after school. He lived differently now—sleeping until noon, waking when you were already in class, rushing off to work right after dropping you at home. It was a frustrating dance of schedules that never fully aligned. You saw the dark circles under his eyes, noticed the way he smelled of smoke and alcohol when he came to pick you up, but you never questioned it. The money he brought home was real, and in a family like yours, that was all that mattered. “At least it’s not illegal,” you told yourself, though a part of you suspected that the line between legal and illegal in his world was far blurrier than you wanted to admit.

• Those nights when you managed to sneak him into your room became sacred. He would tiptoe down the hallway, avoiding the creaking floorboards, while you held your breath until he closed the door behind him. You lay together on your small bed, him still carrying the scent of the night he had just left behind, whispering things that only made sense in the dark. One of those early mornings, when both of you had given in to exhaustion, you woke before him. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and without really thinking, you glanced at it. The messages unfolded before your eyes like a slap: a girl, with profile pictures too heavy on makeup and too revealing, asking if they could meet at the club that night. “I missed you last night,” one of her texts read, and Nam-gyu had replied with a simple “me too.”

The fight that followed was unlike any before—it wasn’t about silly jealousy or teenage misunderstandings. It was about real betrayal, about lines that had been crossed in reality, not just in your paranoid imagination. And for the first time, Nam-gyu had no easy excuse to offer.

• The reconciliation came only days later—him waiting outside your school with that guilty, puppy-dog look—but something had changed irrevocably. The apologies stumbled out of his mouth: “It didn’t mean anything,” “It was just work, I had to be polite,” “You’re the only one who matters.” And though you forgave him, because at seventeen love feels stronger than pride, a seed of insecurity had been planted. You looked at yourself in the mirror with new, critical eyes, noticing what you lacked: the sophistication of those women who frequented Pentagon, their developed curves, their experience. You were still a student in a school uniform with teenage worries, while he moved in an adult world with rules you didn’t fully understand.

• You began to wonder what he saw in you when he had access to women so different. The nights grew longer, imagining what his work life must be like—surrounded by girls who knew exactly how to seduce, who understood his world in ways you never could. You found yourself checking his phone while he was in the shower, searching for evidence of betrayals you didn’t want to find but couldn’t stop looking for. Paranoia became your constant companion, whispering that you weren’t enough, that it was only a matter of time.

• Late-night calls became obligatory rituals. Even when he was working, he found moments to send you messages: “Thinking of you,” “This song reminds me of us,” “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” It was his way of keeping you connected to him even when he was physically in a world you couldn’t touch. But sometimes, beneath those calls, you could hear loud music and female voices, brutally reminding you of where he really was.

• On the day you turned eighteen, Nam-gyu decided it was time for you to fully experience his world. “I want to celebrate you the way you deserve.” Pentagon that night felt different—not like the forbidden place you had imagined for years, but like the kingdom where Nam-gyu was almost royalty. By then, Su-bong already had some recognition, and seeing you arrive on Nam-gyu’s arm felt like a public declaration of something they had kept in the shadows for too long.

Nam-gyu didn’t leave your side all night—his hand resting on your lower back as he introduced you to people whose names you would forget the next day, whispering comments in your ear that made you laugh above the noise.

When you finally left the club in the early hours of the morning, ears ringing and hearts racing from the adrenaline of the night, Nam-gyu took you to his small apartment—that space he rented with the money he earned at Pentagon. It was tiny, just a single room with a makeshift kitchen and a shared bathroom, but it was completely his. And that night, for the first time, you gave yourself to him completely—not as the teenager you had been for years, but as the woman you had become without realizing it. It was awkward and perfect at the same time, full of nervous whispers and touches that spoke of years of restrained longing.

• You began staying at his apartment on weekends, learning to navigate his world of late-night schedules and 3 PM breakfasts. His clothes mingled with yours in the small closet, and you found yourself cooking for two in that tiny kitchen, feeling strangely domestic for someone who had just turned eighteen.

• He started including you more in his work, but always with clear boundaries. He would take you to Pentagon on his less intense days, introducing you as his girlfriend to regular clients, but there were areas of his professional life that remained completely off-limits. You noticed conversations cut short when you appeared, phone calls taken in the bathroom, small envelopes exchanged in transactions you pretended not to see. “Some things are better if you don’t know,” he would say when your curiosity became too obvious, and there was a firmness in his voice that left no room for argument.

Pairing: Nam-gyu x fem reader

Warning: a little bit of smut

Note: The reader is 19 years old and Nam-gyu, as in the series, is 27. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

• Neighbors by dangerous coincidence

You still lived with your parents, and he lived in the apartment next door. Every morning you would cross paths — you leaving for classes, him coming back from working at the club.

Wrinkled shirt, the smell of alcohol or weed, and sometimes red eyes from a long night out.

• First impression

For you: dislike, or at least distrust.

For him: a young, pretty girl, but nothing more… until the hallway encounters became so routine that he started noticing the way you fixed your hair before leaving, or how you always wore headphones.

• The first interaction

A malfunction left you both trapped in the elevator. At first, the silence was uncomfortable — him leaning against the wall, you staring at your phone as if it could save you.

He was the one to speak first, with that deep voice and a teasing edge, asking if you were “always this serious” or if it was just with him. Little by little, between sarcastic remarks and unlucky-elevator jokes, the conversation became less tense… and from then on, hallway encounters stopped being just quick glances.

• Nights on the stairs

He always found an excuse to leave for work a little earlier just to meet you on the stairs. He’d sit one step below you, light a cigarette, and let you talk about anything — your exams, your friends, or how tired you were. In return, he’d complain about the “idiots” he had to deal with at the club.

• Late-night talks

On nights when he was free, the conversations lasted longer. They weren’t just quick rants or stories anymore, but real talks about life — things he’d never told anyone, and questions that made it clear that, even if he pretended to be cold, he had been watching and listening to you closely.

• Unexpected visit to your school

One day, while you were chatting with your friends, he appeared leaning against the front gate, hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you walked up to him.

“Want to go eat? I don’t have to go to the club today,” he replied, completely dodging your question.

Your friends looked at him like he was some kind of celebrity, but his eyes were only on you.

• An improvised first date

You went to eat something simple, then walked through quiet streets while he carried your backpack without you even asking. You ended up at a lookout point, talking about everything and nothing. When night fell and the air grew cold, without a word, he draped his hoodie over your shoulders.

It wasn’t a planned date, but for both of you, it was the perfect way to end the day. Even if neither of you said it, that night marked a before and after.

• Marking his territory without asking

After the first date, something in the way he acted shifted. He no longer settled for seeing you just on the stairs — he started walking you to your door whenever he could. If he noticed a guy your age standing too close while talking to you, he would suddenly appear behind you, wearing a cold look that said move without a single word.

• Silent details

He never said “I worry about you,” but he always made sure you got home before it got dark… and if you didn’t, he was the one to send you a short message: Where are you?

He even learned the route you took to school, “just in case.”

• The day he truly got mad

A classmate had been bothering you, and even though you didn’t want to tell him, he found out. You didn’t ask how he knew, but that person stopped bothering you after that. When you confronted him, he just shrugged and said:

“I don’t like people disrespecting you.”

• His signature gesture

When you were together on the street, he always kept you close to his side. And if he noticed you were uncomfortable in a crowded place, his hand would find yours or rest firmly on your waist — a silent reminder that you were safe.

• Jealousy he’ll never admit

Even if he never said it outright, it was easy to tell when he was jealous: the furrowed brow, the tight jaw, and how afterward he became more attentive to you… almost as if he wanted to remind you why you were with him.

• The unexpected first kiss

It happened at your front door, like always. He leaned in for the usual kiss on the cheek, but at the last second, he turned his head and brushed his lips against yours. It was quick, almost clumsy, but enough to leave you speechless.

After that, goodbyes changed: now they ended on his couch, in long kisses and silences where the only sound was his quickened breathing.

• Suspicions at home

Your parents started to notice you were going out more often and coming home late. The thought of them finding out who he was made you nervous — not just because he was seven years older, but because of his reputation in the building.

• The first fight

He always said you could have friends, but when he saw your messages with a classmate —including an invitation to hang out after finishing a school project— he lost it. “I know how they look at you… because I looked at you that way the first time,” he said seriously.

The argument lasted a while, but eventually you talked it through, and he reluctantly decided to trust you.

• Your mother who figured it all out

It was pure luck… for her, not for you. She stepped out to take the trash and caught you kissing him right at your door. She didn’t say anything in the moment, but the look she gave you was enough to tell you you were in trouble.

• Direct prohibition

That night, your mother was clear: she didn’t want you seeing him again. She had her reasons — the age gap, his job at a club, and his well-known vices. But for you, it wasn’t an order you could easily follow… and he wasn’t the kind of man to walk away once he’d decided to stay.

• Seeing him despite everything

The prohibitions didn’t work. You kept seeing him, and your parents, resigned, chose not to argue anymore. They maintained a polite but distant relationship with him — a quick hello, maybe a few polite words, but nothing more. He knew it and never forced conversation.

• Turning 20 and changing the rules

On your birthday, he showed up with a plan already decided: to take you to Pentagon, the club where he worked.

“You can get in legally now. I want you there with me tonight,” he said, with that determination that left no room for a no.

• In His Territory

The place was full of lights and loud music, but he stayed by your side for most of the night. He drank a little, but made sure you didn’t have too much. “I don’t want you losing your head in here,” he said as he handed you a glass of water.

• Dancing for Him

At one point, he led you to the dance floor. His hands rested firmly on your hips, guiding your movements as you swayed to the rhythm. His fingers tightened slightly when he noticed other eyes on you, but he said nothing; he was too busy watching the way the red corset hugged your figure, the tight mini skirt, and the black stockings that demanded his attention.

That night, there was nothing subtle in his gaze — he was proud to have you there with him… and he wanted everyone to know it.

NFSW

• The return from the club

That night at the Pentagon had been full of lingering touches and heated glances. His hands on your waist as you danced, his firm palm on your thigh every time he leaned in to speak into your ear… it was as if he’d been testing your limits all night.

• Crossing the line

When you left, you walked in silence to his apartment. The moment the door closed behind you, his lips found yours. The kiss started slow, but with every touch, the tension that had been building for hours became impossible to ignore.

• The first time

It was something new for you, and he knew it. That night, he moved with more care than anyone would expect from someone like Nam-gyu. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but the way he looked at you — as if you were the only thing in the room — made you both want to do it again.

• After

When it was over, he lit a cigarette and stayed quiet for a moment, lying back. Then he returned to you: a kiss on your neck, his hand tracing your back, a low, husky whisper you didn’t fully catch.

• His favorites and yours

He had a fixation for your hips and breasts his hands always went back there. And you, without saying it, adored those same hands: not just because of how they looked, but because of how well he knew how to use them.

• He was fascinated by looking at you.

The soft expressions on your face, the way you would close your eyes and let out those sounds that made it even more intense. When you'd throw your head back and cling to his shoulders.

• Your fantasies.

always wanted to do it in a public place, the idea of getting caught really turns him on, because then they could see how good it makes you feel. Plus, someday try penetrating you from behind.

• Favorite position

Whichever position gives him the most dominance over you. He likes doggy style and missionary.

• Orgasm

loves to cum inside you, in your tight walls. She also likes to feel his warm liquid filling you, doesn't care about using birth control and knows her boyfriend looks healthy.

• Oral

likes to receive, although she also likes to use her mouth to pleasure you. Although his favorite sight is having you on your knees, while tangling his hand in your hair.

• Secret

He likes to record your intimate moments for his personal use — something to keep for himself when you’re too busy with finals or other reasons to see him. He masturbates with them.

"But... does that need to be there?" you gasped, pointing to the camera with your head.

“I want to make memories with you, baby” he murmured in his husky voice.

He shoves his cock in your hole. You moan in pleasure as Nam-gyu thrusts hard.

“Mhm...that feels so good...”.you moan as he starts to move inside you.

He speeds up a little, though he still doesn't want to go that fast. He wants you to last longer. You dig your nails into his skin as he starts to speed up. It was so much stimulation that you couldn't take it anymore, and you even tried to push him away.

He grunted as he heard this, as he sped up a little more. You let out a loud moan as he started to ram into your sweet spot. You clutched at the sheets, as you felt your boyfriend move making you feel good as always.

Nam-gyu began to feel your walls tighten around him. God, he really wanted you to have one squirt if nothing else, he had tried, but it was already a matter of luck if he succeeded or not. He stopped his onslaught and instead gave hard and fast strokes inside you. You felt a rather pleasant tingle.

“Are you about to cum already? Hm?” Nam-gyu grunted as he tried to push. He groaned as he nodded.

Push as he could, and he knew he had to go deeper.

“Nam-gyu!” you moaned loudly. As you arched your back off the bed. You came to orgasm.

While that was happening Nam-gyu was over the moon as he chased his own orgasm. You sobbed a little as he continued to fuck you.

“ Almost y/n...” he grunted as his cock moved inside your hole. A few more thrusts and he cum inside you.

Filling you completely with his cum. He rammed a few more times to enjoy the sensation. He lets out a sigh of relief and waits a few seconds before pulling out and moving the camera down to get the winning shot.

Pairing: Nam-gyu × Female Reader

Warning: None

Note: I’ve been trying to learn more about the topic, so I did my best. English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes—just let me know.

Pairing: Nam-gyu x female reader.

Warnings: Smut.

Note: English is not my first language. I apologize if I made any mistakes—if so, feel free to let me know.

The slap echoed like a gunshot in the middle of the VIP area.

For a second, even the music seemed to stop. The laughter, the toasts, the lights… everything froze. No one said a word. Only a few heads turned discreetly, feigning indifference, as if it wasn’t their business.

She was trembling. Not from fear, but from rage, from the buildup of disappointment. She set the wine glass down on the table with calculated calm and walked away with firm steps toward the staircase leading to the first floor.

“What’s wrong with that bitch?” Thanos muttered, rubbing his cheek, as if he still had the right to be offended. Drops of splashed alcohol were running down his neck and face, but he didn’t seem to care.

From a corner, Nam‑gyu had seen everything.

It wasn’t a surprise. He had been noticing it for weeks: the blatant flirting right in front of her, the way she would lower her gaze or quietly walk away when another girl got too close to him. He had learned to read those small signs.

And he had learned to stay quiet, too.

But this time was different. This time, she didn’t just sit there.

Nam‑gyu stood up, grabbed his hoodie from the back of the armchair, and walked across the VIP area without rushing. He went down the stairs, ignoring the music that had started up again behind him. He moved through bodies and artificial lights until he stepped outside.

The street air was cold. It did him good.

He pulled on the hoodie and scanned the sidewalk with his eyes. He saw her. Sitting alone at the bus stop across from the club. Head bowed. Phone in her hands. Cheeks wet.

He stopped halfway there. Hesitated.

And what was he going to do? Comfort the ex of his almost-friend? The same girl who doesn’t even know he exists beyond just being around the rapper?

Even so, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Took a long drag as he crossed the street slowly, with his hands in the hoodie’s pockets. He stopped next to the bus stop, but didn’t sit down. He just stood there, smoking in silence, as if the smoke could hide the lump in his throat.

He glanced at her. She had called a cab.

She wasn’t crying loudly. She wasn’t making a scene. She was just… broken.

The girl looked up. Her eyes — still wet — met his.

She didn’t say much. She didn’t need to. She just looked at him. Expressionless. As if she wasn’t expecting anything.

“What?” she muttered. Not angry, not curious… just that.

He lowered the cigarette slightly. Held it between his fingers, but didn’t smoke. He didn’t look away.

“Nothing,” he replied dryly.

“Then what are you doing there?…” she asked, without changing her tone.

“Smoking,” he answered, lifting the cigarette just a little, as if that were explanation enough.

She looked down. She wasn’t checking her phone anymore. Now her hands were folded in her lap, but not still. She was fidgeting with her fingers, scratching insistently at the base of her ring finger with her thumb nail. A nervous habit. Familiar.

“If you keep that up, your fingers are going to end up raw,” he said.

She paused for a second. As if her hands didn’t belong to her. Then she went back to it, slower this time, almost guiltily.

Nam‑gyu turned his face forward, took another long drag, and exhaled slowly.

“I do that too,” he added after a moment.

“And why would you?” she asked, a faint crease between her eyebrows. Then she lowered her voice a little, as if regretting her tone — “I thought your… substances were enough.”

He didn’t react right away.

Just turned his head a bit, just enough to look at her.

“Substances don’t shut off what you feel. It’s just a temporary trip.” He looked straight ahead again. “But when you come back to reality, it feels like shit.”

She looked down. Pressed her lips together.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she murmured.

“I know,” he replied, without thinking too much. Because he did know. It wasn’t the first time someone judged him… but it was one of the few times someone apologized.

She stopped scratching her fingers. Instead, she hugged herself, crossing her arms. The black top she wore barely covered her shoulders, and the night breeze had already started to slip through her clothes. The skirt didn’t help either. She was trembling, even if she tried not to show it.

Nam‑gyu dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushed it with the tip of his shoe, and kept watching her for a moment longer.

He hesitated.

Then he took off his hoodie and stepped toward her. He held it out in front of her chest without saying much.

“Put this on.”

“That’s not necessary,” she replied immediately, raising her hands, a bit embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” he insisted, without raising his voice.

She glanced toward a nearby corner. A group of guys were silently watching her from a distance. No one else on the street. Everyone was still inside the club. That kind of look wasn’t friendly.

She nodded slowly and, without saying anything else, took the hoodie.

“Thanks.”

She put it on with slow movements, careful not to reveal too much. It was big on her. That made her feel safer. Almost invisible.

Nam‑gyu watched her for a second longer, then put his hands in his pockets and sat down beside her. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stayed there with her.

She was the one who broke the silence.

“You can go, if you want. I… I’ll give it back if I see Su‑bong again.”

Nam‑gyu turned his head, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean ‘if’ you see him again?” he asked, almost in disbelief. “You’re not going back?”

She shook her head, this time without hesitation.

“No. He has to come pick up his things from my place… But I only came because he kept asking me to go with him.”

A silence formed between them. One that felt different. Heavier. More real.

Nam‑gyu looked at her again. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, hands resting at her sides on the bench, as if anchoring herself to something.

“So why the show tonight?” he asked, not sarcastic—just curious.

She pressed her lips together before speaking. Lowered her head more, like everything weighed her down.

“Because I was tired of Su‑bong doing the same thing over and over,” she said in a weak voice. “At first, he said they were just fans… but you don’t send messages to a fan.”

She paused, the lump in her throat obvious.

“And you don’t kiss her… or…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Nam‑gyu didn’t push. He didn’t need to.

He understood very well what it meant to feel replaceable. Invisible.

“You always put up with that?” he asked suddenly.

She blinked.

“What?”

“That idiot Thanos. The way he talked to you. The way he acted.”

She sighed.

“I guess I did.”

“Why?”

“Because when I met him… he was kind. He treated me differently than others. I thought maybe… I believed I had finally met someone who’d support me no matter what.”

He nodded slowly.

“Sometimes we hold on to the first version of someone,” he said. “Even if that version doesn’t exist anymore.”

She looked at him. That sentence hit her hard. Like he had pulled out something she didn’t even know how to express.

“You get it, don’t you?”

Nam‑gyu didn’t answer. He just looked down and gave a slight shrug.

A cold wind passed between them. She hugged herself tighter in his hoodie. She sank into it as if it were a safe cave.

“It smells like you,” she murmured.

He turned his head toward her, a little surprised.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It smells like cigarettes,” she murmured softly, “but it’s warm.”

Nam‑gyu looked away, swallowing hard. He didn’t know what to do with that sentence. With that tenderness directed at him.

Everything she said, she meant. That scared him a little.

And it also made him want to say something, for once, that wasn’t a defense or an excuse.

“You know what I thought the first time I saw you?” he asked, without looking at her.

“What?”

“That you didn’t belong there.”

“At the club?”

He shook his head.

“With him.”

There was no time to respond. Just then, the taxi lights stopped in front of them, breaking the moment like a burst of reality.

She stood up slowly, with a bit of discomfort. Instinctively, she started taking off the hoodie to give it back.

Nam‑gyu raised a hand, stopping her with a gesture.

“Keep it. Give it back another day.”

She looked at him, unsure.

“But I don’t plan on coming back here.”

“Then it’ll be somewhere else.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out, without saying anything else. He didn’t ask for anything. He just offered it, like someone leaving a door slightly open, hoping someone might have the courage to walk through it.

She took it. Typed in her number with cold, trembling fingers, then handed it back without really looking.

Then she got into the taxi.

Nam‑gyu stayed on the sidewalk, hands back in his pockets, watching as the car drove away down the empty street.

He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t make a gesture.

He just thought, in silence, that maybe—just maybe—there was still a way out of the place he’d always been trapped in.

And that now… he had an excuse to look for it.

•°. *

Their hands were intertwined. They were leaving the Pentagon club.

Yes, she had said she wouldn’t go back—and she meant it.

But that night, she wasn’t there for anyone else.

Not for Thanos.

But for her boyfriend.

Nam‑gyu.

It wasn’t the last time.

Or the second.

There were many more times they saw each other.

And at some point, she just stopped caring whether Thanos still went to the club.

Though, to be honest, she never saw him again

They walked calmly down the sidewalk, unhurried.

As if time between them didn’t weigh anything.

Nam‑gyu, as always, walked her to the door of her apartment.

Not because he didn’t trust her.

But because he didn’t trust the rest of the world.

And because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else daring to look at her like they had a right to get close.

Once they reached the entrance, she turned toward him.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said with a subtle smile.

He put his hands in his pockets, like he always did when he didn’t want to say something too obvious.

“Don’t guess. Tomorrow’s my day off.”

She smiled more openly. That smile he liked so much, even if he never said it.

She stepped closer and gently took his fingers in hers. Then she lifted her face and brushed his lips with a kiss. One that started like always: slow, brief. But it lingered.

Nam‑gyu closed his eyes. His hands moved to her waist, then to her hips, pulling her in a little more.

The kiss ended on its own, but not the desire.

His lips kept searching. They went down to her jaw, then to her neck, brushing it calmly, as if learning the map of her skin for the first time.

She let out a soft laugh, one of those that slips out without permission.

“Stop, Nam‑gyu…” she murmured between giggles, trying to push him back with her hands on his chest.

But he didn’t listen.

He kept smiling against her skin, as if her laugh was his favorite sound.

The apartment door opened, and he closed it with a gentle kick, never letting go of her waist. His steady hands guided her down the hallway with slow but determined steps, toward her bedroom—one he already knew well, though never for this reason. Sleeping there, holding her, listening to her breathing while she slept… that had been enough. Until now.

He laid her down on the bed, as if she were something fragile, and settled over her.

He kept kissing her, with more intensity, while his fingers moved along the exposed skin of her legs—slow, soft. But then she stopped him.

“Nam‑gyu…” she said softly, gently pulling away.

He lifted his head, breathing a little heavier, and looked at her.

Not with frustration. With attentiveness. With patience.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice deeper, but calm.

She swallowed. Hesitated. Looked down.

“It’s just…” her words broke a little, “…I’ve never done this. With anyone.”

Nam‑gyu blinked once. His expression shifted ever so slightly, like something inside him settled differently.

He didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at her, and his body relaxed.

He rested his forehead against hers and let out a slow exhale.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he whispered. “And if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

She closed her eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to… it’s just that…” she paused, searching for the words, “it scares me.”

Then Nam‑gyu caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

And for the first time that night, his voice became as soft as a secret:

“We’re not going to do anything that makes you feel that way.”

She opened her eyes. Looked at him. Felt him.

And that was when the fear turned into something else. Something tender. Something new.

They kissed again, this time more slowly.

As if time wasn’t rushing them.

As if they were speaking only with their mouths and their intertwined hands.

He gently pulled on the thin straps of his girlfriend’s dress, sliding them down her shoulders slowly, unhurried.

The fabric slipped down gradually, revealing her torso. Nam‑gyu’s pupils dilated instantly, and something in his breathing changed, as if the moment had stolen the air from his lungs.

She, on the other hand, blushed slightly. Not out of embarrassment, but because of what it meant to be seen like that. Vulnerable. But there was no intention of stopping.

He didn’t say a word. He just moved the dress aside and let it fall into some corner of the room, without looking where.

She was beneath him, in that loaded silence that feels louder than any word.

He rested his knees on either side of her body, without putting his weight on her. He surrounded her, but didn’t press down.

And then, with a slow motion, he took off his shirt. His torso was revealed, outlined by the soft shadows of the dim light filtering in through the window.

He leaned down toward her again, and their lips met once more.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was deep, warm, charged with something that went beyond desire.

She lifted her hands and gently held his face between her fingers, caressing his jaw while keeping him close, with no intention of letting him go.

She felt his breath against her skin, the slight tremble in his muscles… and then, his hand — his — began to descend.

Delicate. Sure. From her stomach, slowly, grazing her skin with an intention not to invade, but to discover.

She held her breath. Not out of fear, but because it was new.

Her body reacted before her mind could.

And in that moment, there were no words.

Only glances. Only touch.

Nam‑gyu paused for a second, his eyes locked on hers.

As if asking without speaking.

And she, without needing to say a word, gave a slight nod.

Then he continued.

“You’re going to like it,” he murmured in her ear, his voice low and hoarse.

His words ran over her skin like a shiver.

And then she felt it: his hand sliding gently, touching her in that place where skin burns with just a brush.

She let out a short breath, one that mixed with the sound of her breathing.

Then a deeper inhale, when she felt the first real contact.

A finger. Cautious, patient. Strange at first. But not uncomfortable.

It was… new.

Her body hesitated for a moment, then slowly gave in to the rhythm, the warmth, the certainty of his hands.

Little by little, nervousness turned into a subtle tingle that spread from her stomach to the quickened beat of her heart.

He watched her, paying close attention to every reaction, every little gesture that revealed more pleasure than doubt.

She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, and let herself go.

She felt it when he withdrew that finger, and for a moment, her body responded with a slight jolt, startled by the pause.

But there was no emptiness.

Only a change in rhythm.

Nam‑gyu leaned down and placed a soft kiss right in the center of her chest—warm and patient. Then, unhurried, he moved down her body, exploring with his lips every place he had only looked at before.

His breath grew warmer as he reached her lower belly. There, he paused for a moment, as if respecting every new centimeter. Then he touched her thighs—first on the outside, then the inside—with the tips of his fingers, tracing invisible lines that lit up her skin without any rush.

He parted her legs with a softness so subtle it was almost imperceptible, as if they didn’t belong to her, as if her body responded on its own.

She closed her eyes. She felt the air, the silence, the weight of that held moment that spoke louder than any word. Her heart was beating fast—not just because of what was about to happen, but because of who was doing it.

Nam‑gyu looked at her once more. And without saying a word, he continued. Because he had already heard everything in her breathing.

He moved her panties aside with care, as if even that gesture deserved respect. And then he began.

The first touch made her fingers tense against the sheets, instinctively, like she needed to anchor herself to something. She felt the heat, the wetness, and how her body responded before her mind could fully grasp it.

Her breathing deepened, became more erratic. He didn’t say a word. He just stayed there—focused, attentive to every small movement, every sound that escaped her lips.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, a flush rising to her face—not out of shame, but because of that unfamiliar mix of vulnerability and pleasure she had never felt like this before. She didn’t know exactly what part of it made her tremble the most: her body, or the way he touched her like he had all the time in the world.

Nam‑gyu looked up for a second, and she looked at him too.

It was as if he wanted to be sure, one more time, that she was okay. And she was.

While his tongue kept tracing precise, patient movements, the sweet sounds escaping her lips began to fill the silence of the room like a soft, sincere melody.

Nam‑gyu listened closely. They weren’t just moans; they were small, involuntary confessions. And each one guided him better than any words could

Her fingers slid through his hair, trembling at first… then with more certainty. She tangled them in gently, tugging just enough. He liked it. He wasn’t trying to push her to the edge just yet. The goal wasn’t to get anywhere quickly, but to make every second count—to make her remember it not for how it ended, but for how it felt.

“You taste so good…” he murmured, his voice heavy with desire, barely audible between his uneven breaths. Then he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, followed by a soft bite that made her shiver. “So exquisite…”

His voice—hoarse and overwhelmed—was music to her ears. She felt the heat rise through her entire body, as if the world had shrunk down to that room, that bed… and him.

Before pulling away, he left one last kiss on her hip. Then, slowly, he began unbuckling his belt. He slid off what was left between them with a slowness that wasn’t hesitation, but respect. She, in an involuntary gesture, turned her face to the side, avoiding looking.

Nam‑gyu noticed right away.

“Y/n…” he whispered, with a softness that contrasted with the tension of the moment, “you’ve never seen someone else naked before, have you, baby?”

He leaned over her, careful not to press his weight down. Their bodies touched—skin to skin—but the loudest thing between them was still their gaze.

“Let alone...“ he continued, his lips inches from hers, ”to someone who is anxious to make his girlfriend feel good... for the first time

She didn't answer. She only let out a stifled sigh when she felt that touch so intimate, so new... and so deeply desired.

“Nam-gyu...” she murmured, breathless, her eyes closed and her lips trembling.

He kissed her lips for a moment, warm and firm, like a silent promise. Then he positioned himself between her legs, but before continuing, he reached slightly toward where he had left his jacket. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a condom.

Not that he always carried one... well, yes. But this time it wasn't out of habit, it was because he already had a girlfriend.

And finally, it was happening.

The moment they had avoided forcing, that they had let grow on its own... now it was just flowing. It was strange at first - like anything new - but the pain was minimal. He was patient. Slow. She felt it more than physically; she felt it in the way he looked at her, held her, breathed next to her.

“You know...” he murmured against her neck “I like knowing I'm the first.”

The confession was soft, sincere.

“Is that so? “ she asked, barely between a moan that escaped without permission.

“Yes..." he answered, hoarse.

The thrusts began to find their rhythm, deeper, firmer, still with that mixture of control and desire that characterized him. She felt her body surrendering to his, as if everything she had been holding back was opening up to him.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, still moving.

She shook her head, unable to even form words, just let her hands cling to his back, her nails digging barely into his skin. Nam-gyu tugged gently on her thighs, drawing her closer to him. He wanted to feel her closer. All of her.

“God... “ she whispered, completely disarmed by the sensations, by the connection.

“Do you like it?” he murmured against her ear, biting her lobe gently.

And yes.

She didn't need to say it.

Her body spoke for her.

Noticing how she arched toward him, how her sighs became more urgent, Nam-gyu quickened her movements. She couldn't help it. It felt so good inside her. So warm, so tight...as if her body was made to envelop him and not let go.

Her soft, choked moans were more than sounds. They were responses. They were proof that what they shared was real.

And he felt it too.

The tension building in his abdomen, the tremors in his back, the desire running up and down him.

“Y/n...” he whispered her name in a broken voice, as if it were a prayer, not a warning.

She felt it too.

Her body began to tremble, her breath cut off in a whimper, which she could not contain. The wave reached her, stealing her breath, making her cling tighter to him.

Nam-gyu followed her seconds later, burying his face in her neck as he filled her with his warmth. His body trembled over hers, and then everything stopped. Time, the world, logic. Just them.

Their heaving breaths filled the silence, and the sweat on their bodies glistened in the dim light

They stayed like that, intertwined. His forehead still pressed against hers. He looked at her, and for a moment said nothing.

“Are you all right?” he asked at last, softly.

She nodded, still breathless, but with a look full of tenderness.

Nam-gyu carefully pulled away, removing the condom and discarding it, then returned to her side and covered her with the sheet. He hugged her from behind, as if he still needed to protect her even after the most intimate moment.

“I didn't think I would care so much about doing this with someone” he murmured against her neck, his breath still warm on her skin. “Did you like it?”

“I felt like I touched heaven” she replied in her soft voice, barely audible, but full of truth.

Pairing: Nam-gyu x Female Reader

Summary: He promised to find her during the fourth game.

Note: This is my first time using this platform, so I’m still figuring things out. English is not my first language either, so I apologize if there are any mistakes—feel free to let me know.