The ride home is quiet in the best way.

Soobin’s hand never leaves you once you’re in the backseat. Even half-asleep, he keeps you tucked into his side like instinct, fingers warm over your thigh while the city lights smear across the windows. His head tips against yours every few minutes whenever the car slows down, sleepy little apologies falling from his lips each time.

“Sorry,” he murmurs after bumping your shoulder again.

“You’re literally fine.”

“M’heavy.”

“You are enormous, actually.”

His tired laugh rumbles low in his chest, warm through the quiet interior of the car. For a second he just looks at you with those heavy-lidded drunk eyes, dimples appearing slowly like his face is too sleepy to fully smile.

Then his eyebrows lift. “That’s what sh—”

“Babe,” you cut him off immediately, already laughing in disbelief as you shove lightly at his chest. “Stop. You’ve been watching way too many episodes of The Office.”

Soobin’s grin spreads wider instantly, all pleased with himself for getting a reaction out of you. It looks especially ridiculous on him right now—slumped bonelessly against the seat, cheeks pink from alcohol, hair falling over his forehead while he fights to keep his eyes open.

“I’m practicing my English, jagiya,” he says with exaggerated seriousness, words slightly slurred around the edges.

His laugh comes softer this time, quieter, until it dissolves into a sleepy sigh when he drops his head onto your shoulder again. One of his large hands slides lazily over your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth absentmindedly beneath the fabric of your jeans while the city lights flicker across his flushed face.

By the time you finally make it home, he’s visibly running on fumes.

The second the apartment door shuts behind you, the silence wraps around both of you instantly—warm, familiar, private. Shoes abandoned by the entrance, your bag dropped onto the console table, the faint scent of laundry detergent and vanilla from the candle you forgot to blow out earlier lingering in the air.

Soobin exhales deeply like he’s been holding himself together all night. Then the man just… melts. His forehead drops onto your shoulder dramatically, arms sliding around your waist from behind.

“Home,” he mumbles into your neck, voice rough with exhaustion.

You laugh softly, prying his hands loose enough to turn around. His cheeks are still pink from the alcohol, fluffy hair falling into his eyes, lips slightly swollen from unconsciously biting at them all night. He looks unfairly good standing there all sleepy and oversized in his wrinkled button-up.

“You need water.”

“M’kay.” He says it immediately, obedient and soft, eyes already drifting shut again like agreeing to the task was enough to complete it.

He does not move an inch.

You stare at him for a second from where you’re standing while he remains exactly where he is—tall body slumped against the wall, shoes half-kicked off, blinking slowly at absolutely nothing.

“Soobin baby.”

“Hm?” His head lifts just enough to acknowledge you, sleepy gaze finally finding yours.

“The water?”

“Right.”

Still doesn’t move.

You snort, stepping around him toward the kitchen, immediately hearing his socked feet dragging after you. The kitchen light spills soft gold across the countertops while you fill two glasses. Behind you, Soobin leans heavily against the island watching you with hooded eyes, completely silent.

You slide his water toward him. He takes two obedient sips before abandoning the glass entirely the second you step between his legs to put yours down beside the sink.

Immediately, his hands settle on your hips. Warm, heavy, like they belong there.

“You know,” he says slowly after a moment, voice warm with sleep and alcohol, “I think Beomgyu was trying to hit on that staff tonight.”

You glance up at him. “What?”

“Mhm.” His thumbs drag lazily against your sides. “That funny one. Soram-ssi.” He squints slightly like he’s replaying the memory in real time. “He kept filling her drink everytime she was finishing.”

You laugh instantly. “Poor Gyu.”

Soobin hums in agreement, cheek pressing briefly against your head before he looks at your eyes again. “He's the worst at flirting.”

“He’s still trying to recover from his trainee-days heartbreak,” you tease softly, reaching up to smooth his messy fringe away from his forehead. “That boy sees one cute girl and immediately starts planning the wedding.”

A sleepy grin spreads across Soobin’s face. “He really does.”

“He’s probably writing sad lyrics about her already.”

His laughter comes out quieter this time, dissolved into a tired sigh as his arms tighten around your waist instinctively, pulling you a little closer between his knees. The kitchen falls comfortably silent again for a few seconds except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside your apartment windows.

Then, completely unprompted, Soobin murmurs against your shirt:

“I’m glad I don’t have to flirt anymore.”

Your expression softens immediately. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” His eyes drift shut for a second. “Too much work.” A pause. “You already like me.”

The smugness in his sleepy voice makes you laugh again, but the sound catches somewhere in your chest when he continues. “Still can’t believe it sometimes,” he admits quietly. His smile turns soft at that. Really soft. The kind that always catches you off guard after all these years together.

He pulls you a little closer until your knees press between his, face getting closer for a second before he looks at you again. His expression shifts slightly then—slower, warmer. Charged.

“You wore that perfume on purpose tonight,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches a little. “What perfume?”

“That one.” His nose brushes your jaw when he leans closer. “The one that I told you I really really really really liked last time.”

“So dramatic.”

“M’serious.” His voice drops lower on the last word, making the room suddenly feels smaller.

You try to look away first, but his hand slides up your side, fingertips disappearing beneath the hem of your shirt just enough to touch warm skin. Lazy, absentminded, possessive.

“Soob,” you whisper, mostly because he keeps staring at your mouth.

“Hm?” His answer comes automatically, eyes half-lidded and fixed on your lips while his thumbs continue their slow lazy circles against your waist beneath your shirt.

“You were literally falling asleep five minutes ago.” You try to sound unimpressed, but it’s difficult when he’s looking at you like that. “Are you trying to get in my pants because this is the first time you’ve been able to sleep in since promotions started?”

The corner of his mouth twitches immediately. You narrow your eyes slightly when he leans forward again like he’s about to kiss you instead of answer properly.

“Don’t you have a schedule tomorrow morning?” you ask, pressing a hand lightly against his chest before he can fully close the distance. “Something about getting drunk on live broadcast all over again?”

That finally makes him laugh, a soft, sleepy sound that vibrates warm against your palm.

“That’s next week,” he mumbles, words brushing against your skin because he’s still trying to sneak closer between every sentence. “Tomorrow we’re off.”

“Convenient, right?” You side eye him.

“It’s true.” His nose nudges your jaw affectionately. “Stop pretending I didn’t send you my whole schedule last night, jagi.”

You blink and then narrow your eyes harder. “You sent me seventeen screenshots and a voice note where you forgot what day it was halfway through.”

“I was tired.”

“You said—and I quote—‘Thursday is either dance practice or dentist.’”

Soobin immediately starts laughing again, shoulders shaking this time.

“That could’ve been accurate.” His dimples deepen when you try—and fail—not to smile back at him. The expression on his face softens instantly at the sight of it, drunk affection settling over his features so openly it nearly melts you on the spot.

Then, quieter this time, his hands sliding a little lower against your waist:

“So can I focus on you now?”

The way he says it—low, sleepy, sincere—sends heat straight down your spine. You laugh under your breath, but it dies quickly when he pulls you flush against him between his knees, burying his face briefly against your chest with a tired groan.

“Missed you all night,” he mumbles.

You run your fingers through his hair slowly, feeling Soobin practically melt beneath your touch. His nose brushes lazily against the warm skin just above your collarbone, lips following a second later in slow absentminded kisses that feel more affectionate than intentional at first. Like he’s kissing you because he missed the feeling of it.

You feel his breathing change before he speaks again. “Hate sleeping alone,” he murmurs softly against your skin, confessing. “Couldn’t sleep properly last week,” he admits after a moment, words slower now, almost drowsy. “Kept waking up.”

You tilt his face up gently until his eyes meet yours again. They look glassy with exhaustion, pink-cheeked and soft under the kitchen lights, all the bravado from dinner gone now that it’s just the two of you.

“You should’ve called me,” you whisper.

“Mmm.” His thumb strokes beneath your shirt absentmindedly. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”

You feel the exact moment his attention shifts from sleepy affection into something slower and deeper. His hand slides further beneath your shirt, broad palm flattening against your side while he leans in again, mouth brushing your neck with more intention this time. Not teasing anymore. Not distracted.

His lips press slowly beneath your jaw, warm and slightly parted, and the quiet sound he makes against your skin nearly melts your knees on the spot.

“Soob…” you breathe.

He hums softly in response, still kissing your neck like he’s half-asleep and addicted to the feeling of you under his mouth. His other hand tightens on your hip when you shift closer between his legs instinctively.

He murmurs quietly against your skin, voice rougher now. “Missed this.”

His mouth drifts lower while he speaks, kisses getting slower and wetter now, lingering long enough to leave warmth blooming across your skin. One of his hands slips around your back, fingertips spreading against the base of your spine before pulling you fully flush against him.

You can feel how deeply he exhales at that.

The second you kiss him back properly, something in him changes, his grip tightens sharply at your waist. A low sound catches in his throat before he kisses you again, deeper this time. The kiss turns deep instantly — slow, wet, filthy in that way only years of knowing each other can make it.

“Missed your mouth,” he breathes against your lips, voice gravelly and thick with soju and need. He kisses you again before you can answer, tilting his head to get the perfect angle. He’s so tall that even when bending his torso he still towers over you, shoulders curved forward like he wants to wrap his entire frame around you.

The sound that leaves him when your fingers tug lightly at his hair nearly makes your knees give out.

“Bin…” you breathe against his mouth, already a little dizzy from the way he keeps pulling you closer every few seconds like he’s unconsciously trying to climb inside your space.

“Hm?”

You laugh softly despite yourself, chest rising unevenly while he keeps kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, anywhere he can reach without letting you go for more than a second.

“I didn’t shave today,” you murmur between breaths, trying and failing to sound serious. “Tone it down a little, Choi.”

Soobin pauses.

“Be fucking serious.”

You burst into laughter immediately, but it gets swallowed halfway when he crowds back into your space again, huge hands gripping your waist tighter.

“Do you genuinely think I give a fuck right now?” he mutters against your lips before kissing you again, slower this time but somehow even filthier. “I’m trying to get into my girlfriend’s pants because it’s been, like, a whole week since I saw her.”

“Whole week,” you repeat weakly.

“A tragic week.”

His voice drops lower at the last part, words vibrating against your skin while his mouth drifts back down your neck again. You can feel him smiling faintly against you when your fingers tighten instinctively in his hair.

“Do you know how hard it was sleeping alone after FaceTiming you every night?” he murmurs. “You’d answer looking all comfy in bed on purpose.”

“I literally wear pajamas.”

“Tiny pajamas.”

“They’re shorts.”

“They’re evil.”

You laugh breathlessly again, but it dissolves into a shaky exhale when his hands slide beneath your shirt more fully this time, palms warm against your bare skin while he kisses slowly beneath your jaw. Then his grip tightens suddenly.

“Jump,” he murmurs.

You blink, breathless. “What?”

“C’mon.” His hands slide down beneath your thighs already, sleepy impatience slipping into his voice. “Jump, baby.”

You laugh softly, but wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway. The second you hop up, Soobin catches you effortlessly with a quiet grunt, hands locking beneath your thighs while your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

And immediately—

“Oh my God,” you choke out, laughing against his shoulder. Because now you can fully feel him. Hard. Very hard.

Pressed directly against you beneath his jeans.

Soobin freezes for half a second as your laughter gets worse.

“Binnie,” you gasp, trying to breathe through your cackling. “You're so hard, baby.”

“Shut up,” he mutters instantly, voice deep and embarrassed against your neck while he starts walking anyway. That only makes you laugh harder.

“You were acting all sleepy five minutes ago and now this!”

“Baby,” he groans warningly, squeezing the back of your thigh hard enough to make you jolt a little. “Please.”

You’re still giggling when he carries you out of the kitchen, one large hand supporting you easily while the other keeps sliding up and down your thigh absentmindedly. His face stays buried against your neck the entire walk down the hallway like he’s trying to hide both his expression and his dignity.

“You think this is funny?” he mutters.

“Yes. You literally told me to jump.”

“Because I missed my girlfriend.”

“You missed having sex.”

“That too.”

You laugh again under your breath, arms still looped loosely around his shoulders while he carries you down the hallway. The apartment is quiet except for your giggling and the soft sound of his socked feet against the floor, his hands warm beneath your thighs as he holds you effortlessly against him.

Soobin nodges your bedroom door open with his shoulder.

The room is dim except for the soft amber glow from the lamp near the bed, your half-folded laundry still abandoned on the chair from two days ago and one of Soobin’s hoodies draped over the edge exactly where he left it two weeks ago.

The second he reaches the bed, he lets himself fall forward with you still attached to him.

You squeal, laughing as the mattress dips beneath both your weights, but before you can fully collapse backward, Soobin catches himself with one arm and carefully lowers you onto the middle of the bed instead.

Then he finally straightens up between your legs, hands still resting on your thighs for a second like he doesn’t quite want to let go yet.

Then his eyes drift downward. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly to himself. You follow his gaze instantly and burst into laughter again because his jeans look genuinely painful now.

“Oh, you are suffering.”

“Jagi,” he groans, dragging both hands down his face. “Please have mercy on me.”

Still muttering under his breath, Soobin reaches for the button of his jeans, fingers slightly clumsy from the alcohol while he starts undoing them with a tired sigh. You push yourself upright against the pillows to watch him, entirely too entertained by the situation.

And shameless.

Your eyes drag slowly over him while he struggles with the button for a second, broad shoulders still stretching that button up distractingly well, hair messy from your hands, cheeks flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

God.

The second his eyes flick back up toward you, you pull your shirt over your head in one smooth motion.

Soobin freezes.

Actually freezes.

His half-open jeans suddenly seem completely forgotten while his gaze drops instantly to your chest, the expression on his face shifting from sleepy amusement into something visibly heavier.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes.

The words come out rough, almost reverent. Soobin’s hands drop away from his half-undone jeans like he’s completely forgotten they exist.

He’s on you in a second.

Big hands slide under your thighs, gripping hard as he pulls you down the bed so you’re flat on your back. You yelp at the sudden shift, a surprised little sound that melts into a laugh — which he immediately swallows with his mouth.

The kiss is messy and desperate from the start.

Soobin groans low in his throat the moment your lips meet, tilting his head to slot your mouths together deeper. His tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, hot and slick, sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes. He kisses like he’s starving — wet, open-mouthed, a little clumsy from the alcohol but so familiar he still knows exactly how to wreck you. His tongue curls around yours, sucking lightly before he licks deeper, exploring like he’s trying to map every inch of your mouth.

You moan into him and he answers with a wrecked sound of his own, one large hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you right where he wants you while the other palms the buttons of your jeans.

He manhandles you again — suddenly flipping you so you’re straddling his lap, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his hips. You yelp against his mouth at the easy strength, the way his big hands grip your behind and yank you flush against him. The sound only makes him kiss you harder.

Soobin’s breath is hot and ragged between kisses. While his mouth devours you, his hands are busy — shrugging off his button-up in one impatient motion, shoulders rolling as the fabric slides down his arms and drops somewhere behind him.

You feel the heat of his bare chest instantly, flushed pink and burning against your skin. His broad shoulders flex under your hands as he reaches between your bodies, fingers working open the button of your pants with surprising focus for how drunk he is. The zipper comes down next. He doesn’t even break the kiss while he does it — just keeps licking into your mouth, tongue slow and teasing now, like he’s savoring every little whimper he pulls from you.

“Lift,” he rasps against your lips, voice so deep and hoarse it vibrates through you.

You obey without thinking. The second you lift your hips, Soobin’s hands slide beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your legs with impatient roughness. He groans quietly into your mouth the moment your skin brushes his bare chest again.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping briefly against yours like he needs a second to collect himself. “Missed this so bad.”

Your hands slide instinctively over his shoulders while he finishes pulling your pants off completely, tossing them somewhere onto the floor without looking. The movement shifts him closer between your legs, enough that you can feel the heat of him again through the thin fabric still separating you both.

You reach down between both your bodies this time, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans where they’re still hanging half-open around his hips. You end up brushing your fingers on him.

His entire body reacts instantly.

A sharp inhale. Shoulders tightening beneath your palms. His head dropping briefly onto your shoulder with a low groan that sounds almost pained.

You push his jeans down properly this time, slow enough to make him visibly suffer through it. His forehead stays buried against your neck while he shifts just enough to kick them off the rest of the way along with his socks, one of his large hands gripping your thigh hard the entire time like grounding himself.

The second they’re finally gone, he exhales deeply against your skin.

“Better?” you whisper, unable to stop smiling.

“No,” he says immediately, lifting his head just enough to look at you with drunk ruined eyes. “Worse, actually.”

You laugh softly against his mouth, but the sound dissolves quickly when he flips your bodies and kisses you again.

Your fingers slip through his hair while he goes back to kissing you, mouths parting and meeting again in soft wet presses that grow deeper every few seconds. Somewhere between one kiss and the next, he shifts higher onto the mattress, nudging you backward against the pillows while his broad body settles naturally between your legs like muscle memory.

Years together. Years of this. You can feel it in every touch.

His hand drifts down your side slowly, fingertips grazing your thigh before disappearing briefly off the edge of the mattress. At first you barely notice what he’s doing because he never stops kissing you, but then you hear the soft sound of your left nightstand drawer sliding open.

You break into a breathless laugh against his lips immediately. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” he hums without shame, still kissing you between words while blindly reaching into the drawer beside the bed. “Know this room better than my own.”

You snort softly, but the laugh catches when his hand finally finds what he’s looking for and he pulls back just enough to glance at the condom in his fingers with sleepy satisfaction.

“There we go,” he murmurs.

Soobin tosses the condom onto the pillow beside your head, then finally lets the drawer click shut. His eyes drag down your body like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again — black lace bra, tiny matching panties, skin already flushed from his hands and mouth. A low, appreciative groan rumbles out of his chest.

“Look at you…” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Before you can tease him for his corniness, he moves.

Big hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you down the bed in one smooth, powerful motion. You yelp as your back slides against the sheets, but the sound cuts off into a gasp when Soobin settles fully on top of you. He’s so tall and broad he blocks out the low lamplight, caging you in completely. His flushed chest presses against your lace-covered breasts, hot skin against delicate fabric.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

With a low grunt, he hooks one of your legs over his hip, then the other, spreading you open beneath him. The manhandling is effortless — years of experience and that quiet strength letting him move you exactly how he wants. He rolls his hips forward and presses right against your core.

The thick, heavy outline of his member in his black boxers slides perfectly against your lace-covered heat, pulsing hot and hard. You moan loudly at the contact, back arching off the bed.

“Goddamn—”

He laughs a little at that and you realize he didn't do it on purpose, which makes everything worse.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding hot and wet against yours while his hips keep rolling in these devastating, lazy circles. Every thrust makes his clothed dick drag right over your most sensitive part, the thin layers between you doing almost nothing to dull the sensation. He’s so big between your legs, the weight of him, the heat, the way he pulses and twitches against your warmth — it makes your already tipsy brain spin.

Soobin groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating through both of you. One of his hands grips your behind, squeezing the soft flesh as he grinds harder, fitting himself even more perfectly against you. The other hand slides up your back instead, fingers finding the clasp of your bra with practiced ease. Even half-drunk and hazy, he undoes it one-handed in a single smooth motion — years of knowing your curves making it effortless.

He pulls the lace away slowly, letting it fall somewhere off the side of the bed, and immediately palms your bare breast, warm and heavy, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple as he keeps grinding against you.

“My pretty girlfriend,” he murmurs hotly against your neck between kisses, voice raspy and full of affection. “So fucking perfect.”

"Bin—"

“So lucky to have you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, breath warm and uneven. “Love you so bad, baby… you have no idea.”

His words are slurred at the edges from the alcohol, but they’re so sincere they make your chest ache.

His shoulders shake slightly while he drops his face into your neck again, one large hand spreading across your waist like he needs something to hold onto.

Then, muffled against your skin:

“I’m so fucking hard, Jesus Christ,” he groans. “Feelin' like in our first time again.”

You burst into laughter instantly.

“I’m serious,” he mutters, lifting his head just enough for you to see the genuinely offended look on his flushed face.

Still laughing softly under your breath, your hand slides between both your bodies before he can stop you, palming him through his boxers deliberately this time.

The reaction is immediate, Soobin’s entire body jerks.

“Fuck—”

The curse tears out of him rough and low while his forehead drops heavily onto your shoulder again, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave crescents. You can physically feel the way his breathing stutters when your palm strokes over him once more.

“Oh, you weren’t exaggerating,” you tease breathlessly.

“Baby,” he groans warningly, voice wrecked already.

But you keep touching him anyway. Slow. Curious. Mean.

The second you shift your hips experimentally against him too, Soobin completely loses whatever remained of his drunken patience. A broken sound leaves him instantly.

His hands fly to your hips, holding you still for half a second like he physically can’t process the sensation before another shaky exhale punches out of him against your neck.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters again, sounding genuinely tortured now. “Do not start that unless you wanna kill me.” You laugh softly into his hair, but the sound catches when he suddenly looks up at you again. Completely gone.

All of him focused entirely on you now.

Soobin’s eyes are dark, glassy, and completely locked on your face. His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling against yours as one of his big hands slides slowly down your body. He cups your breast for a second, then keeps going, fingertips tracing over your stomach until they hook gently under the waistband of your lace panties.

His voice comes out low and raspy, almost shy despite how hard he is against your thigh.

“Can I?” he whispers, eyes flicking up to yours.

You nod, biting your lip.

Soobin doesn’t waste time. He sits back on his knees just enough to peel your panties down your legs, lifting your hips with one hand like it’s nothing. The cool air hits your soaked core and you shiver. He groans softly at the sight of you, completely bare now, then quickly shoves his own boxers down and kicks them off.

The second his cock springs free — thick, flushed dark pink, and painfully hard — it slaps against his stomach. He’s so big it still makes your stomach tighten even after years together. The moment his bare skin presses against yours again, both of you shiver hard.

“Fuck…” Soobin breathes, lowering himself back on top of you. The heat of his cock slides right against you, hot and heavy, pulsing against your wetness. He groans at the same time you do, forehead dropping to yours.

“It’s been a while, baby,” he murmurs, almost apologetic, voice rough. “Can it be my fingers?”

Even drunk and desperate, he’s careful.

"Fuck, yes." You nod.

One large hand slips between your bodies, warm and sure. Soobin doesn’t rush. His fingers glide slowly through your folds, parting them gently, spreading the slickness that’s already accumulated there. The first touch is feather-light — just the pad of his thumb brushing over your clit in a slow, lazy circle.

You inhale sharply.

He gathers a little more of your wetness with two fingers, then brings it back up, using it to properly moisturize your clit, making the glide smoother, slicker. It’s so familiar, so practiced — the way he knows exactly how you like it after years together. His thumb stays there, rubbing slow, steady circles while the rest of his hand just rests warmly against your pussy, not pushing yet.

Soobin watches your face the entire time, that lazy, dimpled grin tugging at his lips even though his eyes are dark and heavy with lust.

“Fuck…” you breathe, biting down hard on your lower lip as a shiver runs through you.

His grin widens, dimples deepening. “You like this, right baby?” he murmurs, voice low and raspy, sweet in that devastating way only he can manage when he’s drunk and turned on. “Feel good?”

You nod quickly, unable to speak at first. Your hand flies up to grip his shoulder, nails digging into the flushed skin as your hips twitch. He keeps the rhythm slow and consistent — perfect little circles that make heat pool low in your stomach. Every time his thumb passes over the sensitive bundle of nerves, your thighs tremble around his waist.

Soobin leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, still grinning against your skin.

Another soft circle, then he gathers more of your wetness again, making everything even slicker, warmer. Only then does he finally slide two knuckles down to your entrance. He teases the tip of the finger just inside, barely breaching you, before pulling back and rubbing your clit again — keeping you on edge, making everything wetter, hotter.

You whimper, gripping his shoulder harder. “Soob—”

“I know, baby,” he coos sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Just prepping a bit, 'most done.”

He finally pushes one finger in slowly, all the way to the last knuckle, curling it gently while his thumb never stops its lazy circles on your clit. The intrusion is perfect, familiar, and so fucking good. A broken “fuck” slips out of you again as your back arches slightly off the bed.

Soobin chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond. His flushed chest presses closer to yours as he watches every little expression on your face — the way your brows furrow, the way your teeth sink into your lip, the way your eyes flutter.

Your boyfriend praises you quietly, adding a second finger on the next stroke, stretching you open so easily.

His fingers move in and out in long, slow pumps, curling just right against that spot inside you while his thumb keeps working your clit in those steady, mind-melting circles. He’s completely focused on you — grinning, flushed, whispering sweet little things between soft kisses to your neck and mouth, completely lost in the way you fall apart under his hand.

Soobin curls his fingers inside you one last time, pressing firmly against that spot that makes your toes curl, before he slowly slides them out. The sudden emptiness makes you whine in protest.

He watches your face with a soft, apologetic smile, his own breathing ragged. His cock is throbbing visibly against your thigh, flushed dark and leaking steadily.

“Sorry, jagi, I'm just…” he murmurs, voice thick and raspy. “Really in a rush right now—” He glances down between your bodies, brows slightly furrowed even through the haze of alcohol.

He leans down and kisses your forehead, then your lips, sweet and slow.

“In the morning I’ll take my time with you properly, eat you out for as long as you want, make you come on my tongue first… but right now—” His hips twitch involuntarily, cock sliding against your slick folds. “I feel like I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

You let out a breathless laugh that turns into a curse when his cock lightly drags through your warmth. While he’s still chuckling softly, he reaches down and wraps his long fingers around him, using your wetness to stroke himself slowly. The wet sound is filthy in the quiet room. He groans deep in his chest, eyes fluttering for a second as he pumps himself a few times, spreading your slick all over his length.

The sight makes heat flare through you. The ache between your legs is suddenly unbearable, making you needy for something inside you right now.

Your hand fumbles blindly on the pillow beside your head where you remember him tossing the condom. Fingers brush the foil packet and you snatch it up immediately.

Soobin’s eyes widen slightly when he sees it in your hand, but he doesn’t stop stroking himself, thumb brushing over the leaking tip.

You tear the wrapper open with your teeth — a practiced, familiar motion after years together — and pull out the condom. He shifts back just enough to give you room, still hovering over you, flushed chest rising and falling fast.

You sit up a little, reaching for him. He helps guide your hands, one of his big palms covering yours as you roll the condom down his thick length together. It’s smooth, natural, the same little dance you’ve done countless times. He lets out a shaky breath when you reach the base, giving him one firm stroke for good measure.

“Fuck,” he breathes, half-laughing, half-groaning as he presses you back down into the mattress.

Soobin hovers over you, breathing heavy, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. Even in his drunk, urgent state, the careful boyfriend in him wins.

He reaches over to the side of the bed and grabs one of the extra pillows. As he leans, his heavy cock bobs forward and drags right over your swollen clit.

Both of you freeze for half a second, then burst into soft, breathless giggles.

“Shit—” he laughs quietly, shoulders shaking. “Sorry.”

He tucks the pillow under your hips with practiced ease, lifting you gently like he’s done a hundred times before. The new angle immediately makes you feel more open for him.

Soobin settles back between your thighs, one hand on your waist, the other wrapping around his cock again. You reach down at the same time, your fingers overlapping his as you both line him up together. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance, hot and thick.

He leans down and kisses your bare shoulder softly, lips lingering there.

“You sure you don’t want prone tonight?” he asks gently against your skin, voice raspy but sweet. “I know it’s your favorite, I can fuck you deep like that if you want.”

You shake your head, a breathy whine slipping out as you spread your legs wider for him. “No… want you like this,” you murmur, guiding the tip of him just inside you. “Want to see you, Binnie— fuck...”

You try to pull him in with one impatient roll of your hips. A sharp, needy whine escapes you instantly. He’s so big, and it’s been two whole weeks — the stretch is intense, almost too much even though you’re basically soaked right now.

Soobin freezes right away, concern flashing across his flushed face.

“Breathe, baby,” he says softly, voice steady and comforting. One big hand strokes your side. “I already told you to not do that. It can hurt you, jagi.”

He gently takes your left leg and hooks your ankle over his broad shoulder as he's talking, opening you up even more. The new position makes you both moan quietly. He leans forward, folding you nicely under him, and lines himself up again with your help.

“That’s it,” he whispers, pressing a slow kiss to your knee. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time — drunk, adoring, and a little worried even as his cock throbs against your entrance. He waits, patient, until you relax and nod.

Only then does he start pushing in — slow, careful, and so fucking thick. Soobin’s breath catches as the head of his cock slowly sinks into you, stretching you open inch by inch. He’s so thick that even after the improvised prep, your mouth falls open in a silent moan. The pillow under your hips and your leg hooked over his shoulder make the angle devastatingly deep.

“Shit,” he groans, voice raspy and strained. His eyes flutter shut for a second before he forces them open again, watching your face carefully. “Squeezing me too tight... Just breathe, honey.”

You nod shakily, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he keeps pressing forward, slow and steady. Halfway in, you let out a broken whimper. The stretch burns in the best way, that perfect mix of too much and not enough.

He gives you another moment, then rocks forward again, sinking the rest of the way in until his hips are flush against yours. A deep, relieved groan rumbles out of his chest when he bottoms out. You can feel him throbbing inside you, so full and heavy it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god, baby…” you moan, back arching off the bed.

He stays there for a few seconds, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours while both of you just breathe through it. His flushed chest is pressed against your breasts, skin burning hot. One of his big hands strokes your hips soothingly, the other holding your thigh against his shoulder.

Soobin’s breath hitches. His grip on your thigh tightens almost possessively as he slowly folds you further underneath him — pushing your leg higher, pressing your knee closer to your chest. The new angle forces him even deeper, and a broken moan slips out of you.

Before you can catch your breath, his other hand slides up your back, fingers threading firmly into your hair. He grips the strands near your nape with surprising strength, tugging just hard enough to tilt your head back against the pillow. His long fingers curl tight at the base of your skull, holding you right where he wants you.

Your eyes roll back instantly.

“S— fuck—” The word comes out shaky, almost slurred. The alcohol in your system basically all gone now.

He lets out a low, satisfied groan at your reaction, lips brushing your jaw.

“You like that?” he rasps, voice deep and rough.

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He starts moving.

A deep, deliberate roll of his hips that makes you feel every thick inch dragging inside you. With your leg folded high and his strong grip on your nape and hair, you’re completely pinned under him, helpless in the best way. Soobin pulls out almost all the way, then sinks back in with a wet slap, setting a steady, filthy rhythm.

Your hands fly around desperately, not knowing where to hold on. You fist the sheets first, twisting them hard as he bottoms out again, a broken moan tearing from your throat. On the next thrust you reach for the pillow above your head, gripping it tight, but nothing feels steady enough.

Soobin notices. His grip in your hair tightens just a fraction as he leans closer, chest pressed flush to yours, lips against your ear.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice wrecked.

On the next deep thrust you finally settle — one hand flying up to wrap around the thick bicep of the arm that’s gripping your nape. Your fingers dig into the firm muscle there, nails biting into his flushed skin as he drives into you again and again. Your other hand slides across his broad back, scratching down the length of it hard enough to leave marks.

Soobin hisses through his teeth, a shaky groan following right after.

He keeps that steady, punishing rhythm — pulling out slow, then slamming back in deep, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet room. Every thrust forces a helpless sound out of you. Your nails rake down his back again as he grinds against your walls, and his grip on your hair tightens in response, keeping you right there with him.

Soobin keeps that deep, steady rhythm for a few more thrusts, then suddenly slows. He reaches up, grabs your hand that’s clawing at his bicep, and guides it to the back of his head.

You know exactly what that means.

Your fingers thread through the fluffy strands at the back of his neck and grip tight. The second you tug, you feel your boyfriend's hips stuttering.

He starts giving you shallow, experimental thrusts — little rolls of his hips that let him search for that perfect angle. Not pulling out much, just grinding and adjusting, like he was trying to find momentum or something else your drunken fucked out brain couldn't wrap around it yet. His brows were furrowed in concentration, flushed cheeks glowing under the low light, drunk eyes locked on your face like he’s studying every reaction.

You tug his hair again and his breath catches.

“Fuck—” he murmurs, voice raspy.

He then angles his hips a little higher and gives another shallow thrust.

Your whole body jolts.

A sharp, broken moan rips out of you as he finally hits it — that sweet spot deep inside that makes your toes curl and your vision blur. Soobin’s face lights up instantly, a bright, satisfied grin breaking across his flushed face, dimples deep.

“Fucking finally” he whispers triumphantly, almost giddy even while buried inside you. “Found it.” You want to laugh at his ridiculousness but you're too busy moaning his name out loud.

Soobin doesn’t waste a second. He shifts his weight, one big hand reaching down to fix the pillow under your hips, pushing it a little higher so the angle is even better. Then he hooks your leg more securely over his shoulder, folding you open wider for him.

Now that he’s locked onto your sweet spot, the man turns into a beast so he can focus completely.

His thrusts stay deep but become more targeted — slow, powerful drags that grind right against that patch of warmth on every stroke. The hand that was before gripping your hair, now grips the bed behind your head. The wet, filthy sound of him moving inside you fills the room as he keeps that perfect rhythm, never losing it once he’s found it.

You can only nod and moan, fingers tightening desperately in his skin and back. Every precise thrust makes your eyes roll back again. Soobin groans at the feeling of you pulling his hair, hips snapping a little harder as he chases your pleasure.

He adjusts the angle of your leg one more time, pressing your thigh closer to your chest, and the new depth makes you cry out. Soobin smiles against your neck — proud, drunk, and completely lost in you — while he keeps fucking you with those devastating, focused strokes.

Soobin keeps that perfect rhythm for a few more deep strokes, then suddenly slows again. You're about to curse him out when he gently lowers your leg from his shoulder, letting it wrap around his waist instead. You whine at the loss of the stretch, but the sound turns into a gasp when he slides his long arm underneath your lower back.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough.

With one smooth, powerful motion he pulls your hips up and glues your bodies completely together. Your chests press flush, sweat-slick skin sliding against skin. His arm stays locked around your waist like a steel band, holding you so tightly there’s almost no space left between you. Every breath you take, he feels.

The new angle makes him sink even deeper.

You both moan loudly at the first thrust.

“Fuck— Soobin,” you whimper, legs instinctively circling his narrow hips, heels digging into the back of his thighs to pull him closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading back into his hair at the nape like you knew he loved. "This is new, baby—"

“Better, right?” he rasps against your ear, voice wrecked. “Dreamt of this last night and wanted to try with you so bad.”

Soobin groans, deep and broken, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a second. One of his arms is still banded tightly around your waist, holding your entire body glued to his. The other arm is braced beside your head, forearm flexing hard as his hand grips the sheets in a white-knuckled fist.

"Woke up so hard and leaking all over my bed, jagi, just thinking about you like this."

Soobin looks devastating like this.

Broad shoulders curled over you, flushed chest pressed to yours, the muscles in his arm standing out as he holds himself up just enough not to crush you. His messy hair falls over his forehead, cheeks and neck still that pretty, deep pink from the alcohol and exertion. Every time he rolls his hips, the flex of his back and shoulders is mesmerizing.

He starts moving again — slower, but heavier, grinding strokes that press him right against your sweet spot with almost no space to pull out. Because he’s holding you so tightly, every thrust makes your bodies slide together, your clit rubbing against his pelvis on every roll. The wet, intimate sound of him moving inside you is filthy and constant.

You cling to him harder, legs locked around his hips, arms tight around his neck like you’re afraid he’ll disappear. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp and the back of his shoulders.

Soobin lets out a shaky breath right against your neck.

Your moans mix together, breathy and desperate. He keeps that tight, glued-together rhythm — hips rolling in deep, filthy circles, barely pulling out before pressing back in, keeping you full and pressed against him the whole time.

His flexed arm beside your head tightens, knuckles white on the sheets as he fights to keep control.

He turns his head just enough to kiss you — messy, open-mouthed, and needy — while still holding your entire body flush against his, fucking you deep and slow in that perfect, intimate grind.

You’re getting closer.

Every deep, grinding roll of his hips pushes you higher, that tight coil in your stomach winding impossibly tighter. You can’t stop the needy sounds spilling from your lips. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into his back as you pull him even deeper.

Soobin feels it — the way you start clenching around him, the way your breathing turns into short, desperate whimpers.

He grins.

That devastating, dimpled smile spreads across his flushed face, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with drunk affection even as he keeps fucking you slow and deep.

Your lips press messily against his mouth first, then trail across his jaw, sucking lightly at the sharp line there. Soobin’s grin widens, dimples carving deep into his cheeks as he tilts his head to give you more access. You kiss down the flushed column of his neck, open-mouthed and wet, tasting the salt on his skin and the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to him.

Every time your lips or tongue touch him, he lets out a soft, pleased hum, hips never losing their rhythm.

“Fuck… keep doing that,” he breathes, dimples still on full display. His arm around your waist squeezes you tighter, pressing your bodies impossibly closer as he grinds into you. “Love when you kiss me like you can’t get enough.”

You whimper against his neck and bite down gently right below his ear. Soobin’s breath stutters, the arm braced beside your head flexing hard, knuckles white on the sheets.

His arm around your waist holds you even closer, almost lifting your hips off the bed as he drives into you with those perfect, deep grinds. Your arms stay locked around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair while the heat inside you starts to blow up.

“Soobin—” you whimper against his flushed neck, voice shaking.

“I know, baby. I can feel it,” he murmurs, that dimpled grin still tugging at his lips even as his own breathing turns ragged. “You’re getting tighter.”

You bury your face in his neck, kissing and panting against his skin, desperate little moans spilling out with every roll of his hips. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling hard, and Soobin groans deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips.

“That’s it… let go for me,” he whispers hotly, voice raspy and sweet. “I’ve got it.”

The coil snaps without warning.

Your orgasm crashes over you hard. A broken cry tears from your throat as your whole body seizes up, thighs clamping tight around your boyfriend's waist. You clench around him in pulsing waves, so intensely that your vision whites out for a second. Your back arches hard against him, pressing your chest even tighter to his as pleasure floods every nerve.

Soobin’s dimples disappear as his mouth falls open in a wrecked moan, but he doesn’t stop moving. He keeps grinding deep and steady through your orgasm, drawing it out, letting you ride every wave.

Your nails dig into his back and scalp as you shake in his arms, whimpering and moaning his name like a prayer. The arm around your waist holds you impossibly closer, almost lifting you completely off the bed while he keeps fucking you through it, slow and deep, making sure you feel every single second.

You’re still trembling, thighs shaking around his waist, when Soobin’s thrusts start getting a little more desperate, his breathing turning ragged against your neck.

“Baby… I’m so close,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Still overstimulated and sensitive, you push at his shoulder and then gently but firmly shove his face away from your neck. Soobin blinks, confused for half a second, dimples still faintly visible as he tries to understand.

Before he can ask, you push him harder, rolling him onto his back.

He gets it instantly.

A surprised, breathy laugh escapes him as he wraps both big arms around you and pulls you with him, never once letting you disconnect. In one smooth motion he flips you so you’re straddling his lap, him still buried deep inside you.

“Shit— okay, like this?” he rasps, eyes wide and dark with lust.

You don’t answer with words. You brace your hands on his flushed chest and start riding him.

Soobin’s head falls back against the pillow with a broken moan, eyes rolling for a second as you sink down on him again and again. The new position lets you take him even deeper, and the way your walls flutter around his oversensitive cock makes him look like he’s about to lose his mind.

“Good fuck, jagi—” His voice cracks. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, fingers digging into your skin as you roll your hips in deep, filthy circles.

Soobin looks completely gone underneath you.

Cheeks burning red, neck and chest flushed dark pink, messy hair sticking to his forehead, mouth open in a constant stream of shaky moans. His abs flex every time you sink down on him, and those pretty dimples keep flashing whenever he tries (and fails) to smile through the overwhelming pleasure.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whines, voice raspy and high. “So fucking tight— slow down a little, Y/N, I’m— shit—”

But you don’t slow down. You ride him harder, bouncing on his cock with wet, obscene sounds filling the room. Soobin’s grip on your hips tightens almost painfully as his thighs start trembling underneath you.

His head presses back into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before they fly open again, locked on where you two are connected.

“Look at you… riding me so good,” he pants, half-lost in it. “My pretty girl using me after she came all over my cock… fuck, I love you. I love you so much—”

You slap your hand over his mouth, fingers pressing firmly against his lips.

Soobin’s eyes widen instantly, a muffled, surprised sound vibrating against your palm. You don’t let him recover — you grind down harder, faster, rolling your hips in tight, filthy circles that make his cock drag perfectly against your walls.

His breath hitches sharply through his nose. You can feel the hot, desperate puffs of air against your skin as he’s forced to breathe only through his nose, eyes rolling back slightly.

“Mmm—!” The sound is choked behind your hand, needy and broken. His eyebrows furrow, that pretty flushed face looking completely wrecked as you ride him without mercy.

You lean forward, putting more weight on your hand, keeping his mouth covered while you bounce and grind faster. The wet sounds between your bodies get louder, messier. Soobin’s hands fly to your hips, gripping so hard you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but he doesn’t stop you. He can’t.

He starts thrusting up desperately to meet you, hips snapping off the bed in short, frantic strokes. His thighs tremble underneath you. Every time you slam down, he drives up, burying himself as deep as possible.

You feel him throbbing violently inside you.

His eyes squeeze shut, then fly open again — glassy, drunk, and completely gone. Harsh breaths keep punching through his nose against your palm as he fucks up into you with everything he has left, muffled whimpers and groans vibrating against your fingers.

A few more hard, sloppy movements and he breaks.

Soobin’s whole body seizes up beneath you. His back arches sharply off the bed, a loud, broken moan tearing through your hand as he comes hard. You feel every thick pulse of his cock as he spills into the condom, hips jerking uncontrollably while he keeps thrusting up into you through his orgasm, chasing every last second of pleasure.

His eyes stay locked on where you're both connected the entire time — wide, desperate, and so full of lust and love it makes your stomach flip.

When the last powerful spasm finally fades, his body collapses back onto the mattress, chest heaving. You slowly lift your hand from his mouth. He immediately sucks in a deep, shaky breath, lips parted and shiny.

“Jesus” he rasps, voice completely shot. His hands slide up your back, pulling you down onto his chest as he pants against your neck. "You're so fucking hot."

His hands slide up your back immediately, pulling you down onto his chest while both of you try to catch your breath. His heartbeat is still hammering wildly beneath your cheek, skin damp and burning hot against yours. You can barely move without feeling the aftershocks still rolling through both your bodies.

For a long moment neither of you says anything.

The room is filled only with uneven breathing and the occasional twitch of Soobin’s thighs underneath you whenever you shift slightly.

Then:

A weak little laugh escapes him.

You lift your head just enough to look at him. His hair is sticking everywhere now, cheeks completely flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy and half-closed from exhaustion and alcohol.

You whisper. "Are you still drunk?"

“Debatable.”

You snort softly.

Soobin groans when you move to sit up properly, arms immediately tightening around your waist to keep you exactly where you are.

“No,” he mumbles.

“I can feel you in my lungs, baby. Is getting uncomfy for me.”

“Stay there.”

“Soobin, we need to breathe.”

“We are breathing.”

Barely.

You laugh quietly again, fingers brushing damp hair away from his forehead while his eyes drift shut under your touch almost instantly.

Drunk Soobin after sex is always devastatingly soft. Especially tonight.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs sleepily against your shoulder. “Feels nice.” A lazy smile tugs at his lips before he suddenly starts laughing under his breath again.

“What?” You look up at him.

“I can’t believe you did that again.”

Your face heats immediately because you know exactly what he means. “You liked it last time.”

“Liked it?” He looks genuinely offended, eyes finally opening properly to stare up at you. “Baby, I begged you to do it again for like three months straight.”

You burst into laughter.

“I’m serious!” he insists, dimples appearing despite how exhausted he looks. “You can’t just do stuff like that and expect me to be normal afterward.”

The memory alone visibly affects him again because his hands squeeze your hips instinctively while he groans dramatically into the pillow.

“Oh my God,” you laugh. “You’re still hard?”

“A little,” he mutters with zero shame. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m drunk and in love with you.”

The honesty in his voice makes your chest ache a little. He notices immediately, because of course he does after all these years. His expression softens. Then quieter now, thumb rubbing slowly along your waist beneath the sheets.

“I hate your idol stamina sometimes,” you mumble, voice muffled against his chest while your fingers lazily trace over the warm skin of his stomach. “I’m really sleepy, Soob. Can't go another round.”

His entire expression melts instantly.

“Aww,” he coos quietly, drunk affection taking over his face so fast it makes you laugh weakly. “My baby’s tired.”

“You literally ruined me.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides slowly up and down your back beneath the sheets, soothing and absentminded. “You did kinda start fighting for your life there at the end.”

You groan immediately and shove weakly at his chest.

“Shut up.”

His laugh rumbles warmly underneath your cheek. The room feels smaller and warmer, filled only with your shared breathing and quiet giggles. Soobin’s arms stay wrapped around you like he has no intention of ever letting go, his big hand still rubbing slow circles on your back.

After a minute, he sighs deeply, the sound content and sleepy.

“Okay… I should probably deal with this,” he mumbles, glancing down between your bodies where he’s still buried inside you, the condom now full.

You hum in agreement but don’t move. Neither does he for a few seconds. He just holds you tighter, pressing one last lazy kiss to your forehead.

With a soft groan, Soobin gently starts to pull out. You both hiss at the sensitivity — you from being overstimulated, him from how raw he feels. The moment he slips free, you immediately miss the fullness, letting out a tiny whine.

Soobin chuckles softly at the sound.

“'Can't go another round',” he mocks you, voice hoarse.

He carefully rolls you onto your side beside him, then sits up with visible effort. His tall frame sways a little as he swings his long legs off the bed. The lamplight catches on his flushed skin, the red still blooming beautifully across his neck and chest, sweat making his broad shoulders glisten.

You watch him lazily from the pillows as he peels the condom off with a tired grimace, ties it, and pads across the room on slightly unsteady legs. Even drunk and fucked-out, he’s graceful in that quiet, giant-boy way — tall, broad back flexing as he tosses the condom into the small trash bin near your desk.

He comes back immediately, crawling onto the bed like a big, clingy cat and collapsing half on top of you again. His head lands on your chest with a dramatic sigh, one arm slung heavily over your waist, leg tangled between yours.

“Done,” he mumbles against your skin, already sounding half-asleep. “Can we stay like this forever now?”

You thread your fingers through his messy hair, smiling.

“Yeah, Soob. Forever sounds good.”

He nuzzles closer, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over your heart. His voice is barely a whisper now, warm and sleepy.

“Love you… so much. Thank you for letting me have you.”

You kiss the top of his head, heart full.

“Always, baby. Now sleep.”

Soobin hums happily, already drifting off with his flushed cheek squished against you, dimples still faintly visible even in sleep.

author's note — had so much fun writing this mwahahahah

You should have gone to bed almost an hour ago.

The rational part of your brain knew that.

Tomorrow was a workday. A real one. Not the kind where you answered emails from bed or spent the afternoon catching up on paperwork. Actual patients. Actual sessions. Actual responsibilities. The kind of day that required you to be awake enough to pretend you had your life together while helping other people sort through theirs.

Instead, you were curled into the far corner of Jeongguk's sectional couch wearing one of his oversized black hoodies, your laptop balanced on your thighs while you finished writing progress notes from the week. The television murmured quietly in the background, some reality show neither of you were actually paying attention to, while rain tapped softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul.

Curled against your side was the reason you hadn't moved in nearly forty minutes.

The cat was asleep.

Completely asleep.

One paw stretched over your stomach. Tiny pink nose buried into the blanket covering your legs. Dead weight in the most inconvenient way possible.

The little traitor hadn't left your side since dinner. Which was ironic considering Jeongguk had spent the first three months after the adoption acting like the cat was personally responsible for every inconvenience in his life.

"Bam was here first."

"She's staring at me weird."

"Why is she always in my spot?"

"I don't think she likes me."

Now? Now the same man called twice a day asking for cat updates. You had received three separate requests for photos since breakfast. The latest one had arrived thirty minutes ago.

How's my daughter?

Not Bam. The cat.

Your phone buzzed, the familiar ringtone immediately pulling your attention away from the half-finished sentence on your laptop screen.

A video call from Jeongguk lit up your screen.

A smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it. You didn't even hesitate before accepting, already knowing exactly why he was calling. He always called after shows when he could, especially on nights when the adrenaline was still running through him and sleep felt impossible.

The moment the camera connected, however, you immediately regretted answering.

"Jesus Christ."

Jeongguk's face filled the entire screen, far too close to the camera and somehow managing to look both exhausted and wildly energized at the same time. His hair was a complete mess, falling into his eyes in uneven waves. His cheeks were noticeably flushed, and there was a familiar glassiness to his gaze that told you everything you needed to know before he even opened his mouth.

He had been drinking.

A lot.

The unmistakable expression of a man who had spent the evening celebrating with six other singers and the tour staff after the final show in the city.

The noise behind him only confirmed it. You could hear shouting somewhere off-camera, followed by a burst of laughter loud enough to distort through the speaker. Someone yelled something in Korean that you couldn't quite make out, and a second later what sounded suspiciously like Taehyung attempting to sing drifted through the chaos.

It sounded terrible.

Which meant it was probably Taehyung.

"Oh, fuck you," Jeongguk replied immediately, a grin stretching across his face so wide it nearly pushed his eyes shut. Even through the screen you could tell he'd been drinking. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was a complete mess, and there was a looseness to him that only appeared when he was exhausted, happy, and at least a little bit intoxicated. "That's the first thing you say?"

"It is."

"It shouldn't be, I missed you."

"You are hammered, Gguk."

"I'm not hammered."

"You look like you just got discharged from the military again."

His laugh exploded through the speaker, loud and sudden enough that the cat sleeping against your side twitched in protest. One tiny ear flicked before settling again.

"Baby," he whined dramatically, dragging the word out. "That's so mean. I miss you." He said it once again.

For a moment neither of you said anything as you simply looked at him through the screen while he looked back at you smiling softly, there were voices overlapping and someone shouting across the room but his attention remained fixed entirely on you.

You watched his eyes drift lower, taking in the familiar sight of his living room behind you. The couch. The blanket. The corner lamp. The television playing quietly in the background. It wasn't anything special. Just home.

Then his gaze landed on the cat sleeping against your side.

Immediately, his entire face softened.

"Oh my God. Baby."

A laugh escaped your nose.

"She's sleeping." You told him.

"I know." His smile somehow widened.

The camera shifted slightly as he settled deeper into his chair, resting his cheek against one fist while staring at the screen. The expression on his face was ridiculous. Completely gone. Absolutely smitten.

With the cat.

The same cat he'd spent months pretending to dislike.

"She looks so small."

"She is small."

"Mm." Jeongguk nodded immediately, still staring at the screen with the kind of concentration people usually reserved for life-changing revelations. "So tiny. Look at her."

You angled the phone downward slightly despite the fact that he could already see her perfectly fine.

The sight made Jeongguk audibly gasp.

"Aigo."

You rolled your eyes.

"Aigooooo—"

The sound came out softer this time, stretched into a drunken coo that made absolutely no sense to anyone except him. His entire face had transformed.

The idol who had spent the evening performing in front of thousands of screaming fans was gone. In his place sat a slightly drunk twenty-something man in a hotel room making baby noises at a sleeping cat through FaceTime.

"Aigoo, uri agi."

"She's not even listening to you."

"She is."

"She's unconscious."

"No, she's hearing me."

The confidence in his voice almost made you laugh. "Aigoo, look at that face." He tilted his own head as if trying to get a better angle. "Ya. Ya. Why is she sleeping like that? She's melting."

You glanced down. Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong. At some point the cat had somehow managed to flatten herself into an impossible shape, all limbs loose and heavy against the blanket.

Jeongguk let out another distressed noise. You pressed your lips together.

The cat had somehow migrated upward during the call. At some point while the two of you had been talking, she'd abandoned your stomach entirely and stretched herself across your chest instead, her tiny body draped over you like she paid rent. One paw was tucked beneath her chin, the other dangling lazily against the front of the hoodie. Completely boneless. Completely comfortable. Completely asleep.

The movement only seemed to worsen Jeongguk's condition. His eyes widened.

"No." He suddenly said.

"What?"

"No way."

"What now?"

"Look where she is."

You looked down, then immediately regretted it. The cat was, in fact, sprawled directly across your chest. "She's comfortable." You giggled at seeing the feline's face.

"That's my spot." The words came out so fast you almost choked, a laugh escaped before you could stop it.

Across the screen, Jeongguk looked deeply offended.

"No, seriously." For several seconds he simply stared at the screen with the most betrayed expression imaginable before letting his head fall backward against the hotel headboard.

The movement exposed the column of his throat. His hair fell away from his forehead, the flush in his cheeks had deepened.

Drunk.

Definitely drunk.

His attention had drifted back to you, not the cat this time.

Actually you.

His gaze lingered for a moment before softening. "I really miss you." The teasing disappeared so naturally you almost missed it.

You smiled. "I miss you too."

"No, like..." He rubbed one hand over his face before laughing quietly at himself. "I really miss you."

You watched him shift higher against the pillows, adjusting his phone. The hotel room lighting cast everything in a warm amber glow. His shirt collar hung loose. His eyes looked heavy now.

"I miss being home." His voice had dropped lower. Softer. "I miss the couch."

"You miss your couch?"

"I miss my couch with you on it." You rolled your eyes affectionately, watching him gaze at his phone screen like he was staring into your soul.

For a moment, you simply looked at him. Really looked at him. Past the flushed cheeks and the alcohol-softened smile. Past the messy hair falling into his eyes and the ridiculous complaints about the cat stealing his spot. There was something different about him tonight. Lighter. Happier. The kind of happiness that settled deep beneath the skin and made someone glow from the inside out.

Your smile softened.

"You know..." You adjusted the blanket slightly beneath the sleeping cat, watching his attention immediately return to you. "You're doing such a good job."

Jeongguk blinked, the reaction was instant. Almost shy. "What?"

"You are." Your voice came quieter now, sincere enough that he stopped smiling for a second just to listen. "I've been watching everything."

His eyes visibly brightened. "You have?"

"Of course I have."

A small laugh escaped him. You continued before he could interrupt.

"I can tell how happy you are up there." Your gaze drifted over his face. "And I know you've missed this."

The words landed exactly where you intended them to, you watched it happen. The way his expression softened. The way his shoulders relaxed. The way something almost boyish appeared behind his eyes.

His grin slowly spread across his face. "You think so?" The question came out embarrassingly hopeful, like a little kid asking whether you'd liked the drawing they worked on all afternoon.

Your chest immediately melted. "I know so."

His eyes practically sparkled, a quiet giggle escaped him before he ducked his head for a second, suddenly unable to hide how pleased he looked.

Jeongguk rubbed the back of his neck, that shy, boyish expression lingering as he shifted against the pillows. “You really watched the videos?” he asked softly, his voice dropping with a vulnerable edge that made your heart twist. There was no bravado in it, just pure, hopeful curiosity from a man who poured every ounce of himself into his performances.

You nodded, smiling gently while adjusting the blanket over the sleeping cat. “Of course I did, Gguk. Every single one I could find. You were incredible out there."

His cheeks flushed deeper, but not just from the alcohol this time. He looked down for a moment, biting his lip as a soft, pleased laugh slipped out. The compliment seemed to melt him completely, turning your confident idol boyfriend into someone sweetly bashful.

Jeongguk rubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand, glancing back up at the screen with that shy little smile still playing on his lips. “You always know what to say to me,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, the kind of tone he only used when the rest of the world felt far away. He shifted on the hotel bed, propping the phone against a pillow so he could see both you and the cat better. “Look at her… she’s so peaceful on your chest. My two favorite girls.”

You glanced down at the sleeping cat, its tiny body rising and falling steadily against the oversized hoodie. “She’s been glued to me all night. I think she misses you too, even if she won’t admit it.” A soft chuckle escaped you as you gently stroked her back. “She keeps taking your spot, though. Like she knows you’re not here to claim it.”

He let out a quiet, fond groan, eyes softening even more as he watched the two of you. “I miss that spot. I miss your boobs."

"Freak," you murmured before he laughed out loud.

The laugh that came out of him was immediate. Loud. Completely unashamed. His head tipped back against the headboard and for a second he looked exactly his age instead of the global superstar millions of people saw on stage every night. Just Jeongguk. Drunk. Sleepy. Missing home, missing you.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched you reach down to scratch beneath the cat's chin. The little traitor immediately pushed her face into your hand without even opening her eyes. The movement made something soften visibly in his expression.

For a few moments, neither of you said much. There wasn't really anything left to say. The conversation had already drifted through a dozen different subjects, from the concert to the cat to his very serious concerns regarding the theft of his designated spot on your chest. Now the call had settled into something quieter. More comfortable.

Jeongguk rested his cheek against the pillow behind him, looking at the screen with heavy eyes. The alcohol had finally started losing the fight against exhaustion. The excitement was still there—you could see it every time he smiled—but it sat lower now, softened around the edges by a long day and an even longer night.

"You should sleep," you murmured eventually, watching him struggle through a yawn he clearly hadn't intended to let you see.

Immediately, he shook his head. The denial would've been more convincing if his eyes hadn't watered from the effort.

"You're literally falling asleep."

"'M not. I'm talking to you."

"You can talk to me tomorrow."

Jeongguk frowned at the suggestion, his gaze drifting back toward the cat before returning to your face. The expression lasted only a second before something small and fond replaced it. The kind of look that always appeared when he was tired enough to stop pretending he wasn't sentimental.

For a while, neither of you said anything. There was no need to. The television continued playing quietly somewhere behind you, the rain tapping steadily against the windows while the cat slept through the entire conversation without moving so much as a whisker. On the screen, Jeongguk simply watched. Not in the distracted way people usually watched each other during calls, multitasking and half-listening, but with a sort of quiet attentiveness that always surfaced when he was away for too long. His eyes drifted from your face to the cat, then toward the familiar living room behind you before eventually returning to you again, as if he was mentally cataloguing every detail he was missing.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Not enough to be called a grin. Just enough to soften his features. The alcohol had taken the sharp edges off him hours ago, leaving behind something gentler. Something boyish. He looked comfortable for the first time all evening, settled into the hotel pillows with his hair falling into his eyes and his cheeks still pink from too many celebratory drinks. It struck you suddenly that this was probably the calmest moment he'd had all day.

Your gaze lingered on him for a second longer. The warm lighting of the hotel room. The rumpled sheets. The exhaustion settling deeper into his features every minute. Thousands of miles away and somehow still occupying the entire couch with his presence alone.

Slowly, almost absentmindedly, his eyes began to close.

You bit back a smile.

There was something oddly comforting about seeing him like this. Not performing. Not rehearsing. Not running between schedules. Just tired, happy and safe. The version of Jeongguk that only really existed behind closed doors, when there was nobody around expecting anything from him.

Eventually his gaze found you again, heavy-lidded and warm, and for a moment he simply looked content. The kind of contentment that came from ending a good day and finding home waiting on the other side of a phone screen. Outside, the rain continued falling. Inside, the cat slept peacefully against your chest. And somewhere between the quiet apartment in Seoul and a hotel room halfway across the world, the distance didn't feel quite so large anymore.

author's note — he just texted me saying he missed me guys #trust this is canon.

HELIOS UNIVERSITY ━━━━━ SCHEDULE

PART ONE ━━━━━ political science debate ✧ out june 16th, 2026.

Before you could answer and spiral back into that panic again, Jaeyun asked the question quietly enough that the entire bathroom seemed to still around it. “Do you trust us?” Silence settled immediately afterward. Sunghoon didn’t move. Neither did Jaeyun. Then finally, the word left your mouth, “yes.” “Okay,” both alphas murmured gently. “Then let us take care of you.”

PART TWO ━━━━━ safely behind closed doors ✧ out june 23rd, 2026.

Heat turned out to be the easy part. The real problem was waking up wrapped in alpha scent and realizing Park Sunghoon and Sim Jaeyun cared for you with terrifying devotion — enough that somewhere between ruined sleep schedules, fever management and increasingly territorial behavior, the three of you stopped pretending any of this was temporary.

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like you needed to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the unknown uniform of the man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in a hunter’s uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

so pretty, but so unfairly exhausted, he thought.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told you no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, caleb.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and forget about it."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you in the slightest danger."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, you do as i say and we can have a nice chat. there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room, can’t you see? you do what you’re told and you don’t cause any trouble, this is my final warning”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess.”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his ears seemed to ignore every red signal you emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core inside you?”.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

your back pressed harder into the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you.

his breath brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that always seemed tied to the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

his words cut through the haze, both reassuring and maddening, as though he knew exactly how to keep you on edge. the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak. and yet, there was no condescension in his tone, no arrogance. only raw emotion, carved into every syllable, into every inch of his presence.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using your evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

author's note — me blindly posting this without even remembering how the story goes lmao. i just remembered i didn't sleep for several weeks so i could finished this.

The lights were off except for the soft glow of the TV. Some random action movie neither of you were really paying attention to played in the background—explosions, car chases, loud orchestral music. The couch had become a nest: your blanket thrown over both of you, Sunghoon’s long legs stretched out so far his feet hung off the end. You were curled into his side, head on his chest, one leg hooked over his thigh because he ran warm and the apartment always felt a little cold at night.

Your boyfriend had one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other resting lazily on your thigh where it lay over his. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns on your skin under the blanket—up and down, sometimes slipping just under the edge of your sleep shorts before retreating again, innocent. Or at least that’s what it started as.

You were trying to focus on the screen. Really.

But then Sunghoon shifted. Just a small movement—reaching for his cellphone on the coffee table with his free hand. His torso twisted slightly, chest tightening under your cheek, and suddenly the sheer scale of him hit you all at once.

His chest has gotten so broad that when he stretched like that, your entire upper body felt small against him. The arm behind your shoulders flexed without him meaning to, thick bicep pressing into your nape. His thigh under your leg felt impossibly solid and warm, the muscle dense even through the soft gray sweatpants. When he settled back again, he pulled you closer without thinking, adjusting you like you weighed nothing.

“This movie is actually ass,” he muttered, already reaching for his phone on the coffee table with his long arm. He didn’t even have to sit up fully — just stretched, torso tightening under you again, and grabbed it effortlessly.

You hummed in agreement, too distracted by the way his body moved beneath you to care about the plot anymore.

He slid down the couch a little more, getting comfortable, his hips sinking lower so his long legs spread out even further. The movement caused his gray sweatpants to pull tighter across his thighs. You felt the shift immediately — the solid muscle under your leg flexing as he adjusted his posture.

Without saying anything, without even really looking at you, Sunghoon’s free hand slid under the blanket and found your waist. And then he just… moved you. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His large hand gripped your hip firmly, fingers digging in just enough for you to feel the strength there, and he pulled you higher up his body in one smooth, effortless motion. Your leg that had been hooked over his thigh was now straddling his lap completely. Your chest pressed flush against his as he tucked you tighter against him, your face ending up buried in the crook of his neck.

He did it all with one arm. No straining, no grunting, just pure, casual manhandling — like you were a pillow he was rearranging for maximum comfort.

“There we go,” he mumbled under his breath, already looking down at his phone screen as he started scrolling. His thumb moved lazily across the display, completely at peace. “You were sliding down.”

Then he went right back to scrolling on his phone, thumb moving lazily across the screen, completely at peace. The faint blue light glowed against his sharp jaw as he read something that made the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

You, on the other hand, were spiraling.

Your entire body was now lying on top of his. Completely. Every slow breath he took lifted you gently, like you were floating on the rise and fall of a warm ocean.

You couldn’t see the TV at all anymore. Your world had narrowed down to the heat of Sunghoon's body, the clean scent of his skin at his neck, and the overwhelming size difference that was making your head spin.

He has gotten just so big.

The way your legs looked so short compared to his long ones stretched out beneath you. The way one of his hands could nearly wrap around your entire waist. How easily he had moved your whole body without even glancing away from his phone.

Heat kept blooming low in your stomach, heavy and insistent. You tried to stay still, but your fingers kept clenching and unclenching in the front of his hoodie, and your breathing had turned shallow and uneven against his neck.

Sunghoon kept scrolling peacefully for another minute, completely lost in whatever he was looking at. Then his thumb paused on the screen.

He tilted his head slightly, voice low and genuinely confused. “…Jagi? What’s going on?” His free hand rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, still thinking you were just tired or cold. “You 'kay?”

You lifted your head just enough to look at him, cheeks flushed, eyes a little wild with frustration and want.

“Sunghoon,” you said, voice impatient and slightly breathless, “you just manhandled me like I weigh five pounds, put me completely on top of you, and now your thigh is pressed right between my legs and your hand is basically covering my entire ass and you’re just… scrolling like nothing happened.”

You kept going, the words spilling out faster.

“You’re getting so fucking big, one hand and you just slid my whole body wherever you wanted, I can’t even see the TV anymore. I can barely think because all I feel is how easily you can just… handle me.”

There was a beat of silence, then your boyfriend burst out laughing. Literally laughing.

It wasn’t a small chuckle — it was a full, deep, surprised laugh that shook his chest underneath you. His head fell back against the couch cushion as he laughed, eyes crinkling, the sound warm and boyish and so genuinely amused it made your ears burn.

“Jagi— really?” he managed between laughs, phone now completely forgotten on his chest. “That’s what’s got you like this?”

You glared at him, half embarrassed, half still ridiculously turned on. “Yes. And you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry,” he said, still grinning, trying (and failing) to stop laughing. One of his big hands came up to cover his mouth for a second, but his shoulders were still shaking. “I was literally just trying to make you comfortable. You kept slipping down and I thought— fuck, I didn’t think it was that, jagi.”

He looked at you again, eyes sparkling with a mix of fondness and newfound heat. The laughter slowly faded into a soft, dangerous little smile as he finally seemed to register the full situation — your flushed face, your quick breathing, the way you were gripping his hoodie.

Sunghoon’s hand slid lower again, resting heavily on your ass under the blanket, fingers spreading out possessively.

“So…” he murmured, voice dropping, “you really like it when I move you around like that, huh?” He gave a small, experimental squeeze, easily palming most of your ass with one hand, and watched your reaction closely.

“Oh my God, stop with the posturing right now,” you muttered, cheeks burning hotter.

Sunghoon’s grin widened, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“I thought you liked it.”

“Well, yes,” you huffed, “but not now that you know it.”

You twisted in his hold, trying to escape the overwhelming attention. You turned your body away from him, attempting to roll onto your side and face the back of the couch, hoping the embarrassment would cool down if you didn’t have to look at his stupid smug face.

But Sunghoon didn’t let you. His arm tightened around your waist instantly — that same big hand locking you in place like it was nothing. Before you could even finish turning, he shifted his weight and rolled on top of you in one smooth, fluid motion. The air left your lungs.

He was so heavy. Not crushing, but solid and warm and everywhere. His chest pressed you deeper into the couch cushions, completely blocking out the soft glow from the TV. His shoulders were so wide they shadowed your entire upper body. You couldn’t see anything above you except him — just the dark outline of his face, the faint shine in his eyes, and the way his damp hair fell forward slightly.

“Sunghoon—” you started, but he caught both your wrists in one of his hands and pinned them above your head against the couch.

You pouted hard, trying to tug your wrists free from his grip. You twisted and pulled, but his fingers stayed locked around both of your wrists with ridiculous ease. He didn’t even seem to put in effort — just held you there, smiling down at you like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

“Let me go,” you whined, half-laughing, half-serious.

“Nope.” He shook his head, looking way too pleased with himself. “You tried to run away from me earlier. Can’t trust you anymore.”

Before you could curse at him again, Sunghoon suddenly got hit with a full wave of cuteness aggression. He dropped his head and attacked. First he bit your cheek — not hard, but enough to make you squeal. A playful, toothy bite followed by a loud kiss on the same spot.

“Sunghoon!” you yelped, laughing despite yourself.

He ignored you completely, too busy nuzzling and biting. He moved to your other cheek, biting gently before sucking a quick kiss there too.

“Stop— you asshole—!” you cursed between giggles, squirming underneath him, but that only made him press you down harder with his chest.

He moved lower, dragging his teeth slowly down the side of your neck before biting down on the sensitive skin there. Not enough to bruise (yet), but enough for you to feel the sharp edge of his teeth and the heat of his mouth. Then he soothed it with wet, open-mouthed kisses, sucking lightly.

You giggled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. He kissed all over your neck — slow, hungry kisses mixed with little bites and nips, murmuring between each one:

“So small under me…” Kiss. “Can barely see anything except your cute little face…” Bite. “Fits so perfectly in my hands…” Kiss. “Love how I can just pick you up and put you wherever I want…”

You were a mess — laughing, whining, cursing him between shaky breaths.

“Park Sunghoon, I swear to God—”

He cut you off by biting your jaw, then immediately kissing the spot tenderly. His free hand slid under your hoodie again, palm hot against your waist, fingers spreading wide like he needed to remind himself how much of you he could hold at once.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but still sparkling with that ridiculous fondness.

His thumb stroked over your trapped wrists as he leaned in again, hovering just above your lips. “Tell me how tiny you feel right now, baby.”

You stared up at him, flushed and frustrated, still trying to catch your breath after his attack of kisses and bites.

“I can’t believe this is foreplay for you right now, Hoon,” you muttered annoyingly, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re literally pinning me down and acting like a giant cat with cuteness aggression and you want me to stroke your ego on top of it?”

Sunghoon’s expression shifted instantly. He looked genuinely offended, eyebrows pulling together as he stared down at you. “Ya,” he said, voice flat but clearly playful-offended. “Answer my question.”

You tried to hold back a smile. When you stayed quiet, just staring at him with a defiant little smirk, your boyfriend narrowed his eyes.

Then his eyes dropped.

Your oversized hoodie had ridden up during all the squirming and wrestling, and the collar of the shirt underneath had shifted. A delicate strap of your new bra was now peeking out near your collarbone — soft sage green lace against your skin.

He stopped mid-sentence, completely sidetracked.

Without any warning, Sunghoon used the hand that wasn’t pinning your wrists and casually tugged the hem of your hoodie and shirt upward, pulling both up halfway in one smooth motion. Cool air hit your stomach and ribs as he exposed the pretty bra fully.

“Hey!” you yelped, offended, eyes widening. “You can’t just— Sunghoon!”

He didn’t even look guilty.

His gaze was locked on your chest, genuinely focused now, the teasing completely forgotten for a second. His free hand stayed resting on your waist, thumb absently brushing the underside of the bra cup.

“Is this a new set, baby?” he asked, voice softer, almost distracted. He tilted his head, still hovering over you, eyes tracing the delicate lace. “It looks so pretty… the color really suits you.”

You stared at him, cheeks burning with a completely different kind of embarrassment now.

He was ogling. Not in a dirty way — at least not yet — but in that focused, slightly awestruck boyfriend way, like he’d just discovered something fascinating and needed to study it.

“Yeah… it’s new,” you answered reluctantly, squirming under his heavy gaze. “I bought it last week. Stop staring like that.”

Sunghoon finally looked back up at your face, but his hand was still gently touching the fabric, fingertips brushing over the lace like he was testing how soft it was.

“I’m not staring,” he said, clearly lying. “I’m appreciating. The green looks really good on you. Seriously. It’s soft too… is the whole set like this?”

You groaned, trying (and failing) to pull your wrists free again. “I hate you. You were literally in the middle of teasing me about my size kink and now you’re acting like a fashion critic because you saw lace.”

He smiled, slow and mischievous again, but his eyes kept flicking back down to the bra.

“Look, I'm just a man, jagi.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss right above the bra strap on your collarbone. “You should wear this more often. I like it.”

He smiled, slow and mischievous again, but his eyes kept flicking back down to the sage green lace.

“Look, I’m just a man, jagi.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss right above the bra strap on your collarbone. “You should wear this more often. I like it.”

You huffed, still half-annoyed at how easily he got distracted, but the way his lips lingered on your skin was making it hard to stay mad.

Sunghoon’s gaze darkened again as he slowly dragged his eyes up your body. He seemed to suddenly remember the position you were in — you pinned underneath him, wrists still trapped in one of his hands, hoodie and shirt bunched up under your chin.

The teasing smile returned.

“Fuck… look at you,” he murmured, voice lower now.

He shifted his hips, pressing his thigh harder between your legs, right against your core. The pressure was deliberate this time. You couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped you.

Sunghoon’s free hand slid up your ribs, fingers splaying wide across your skin until his palm covered almost the entire underside of your breast through the new bra. You let out a embarrassed, turned-on whine and tried to twist again, but he only chuckled darkly and pinned you harder into the couch.

“Stop moving like that,” he said, though his tone made it clear he loved it. “You’re making me so fucking hard.”

He finally released your wrists, but only so he could use both hands to shove your hoodie and shirt higher, completely exposing your chest. Before you could protest, he leaned down and mouthed at your breast through the lace, hot and wet, teeth grazing the fabric while his other hand squeezed your waist like he needed to feel how small it was.

“Hoon—” you breathed, fingers finally free to thread through his hair.

He hummed against your skin, sucking lightly before pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips were glossy, eyes completely blown.

“You wanted this,” he reminded you, voice rough. “You got wet the second I moved you like a doll. Don’t act shy now.”

In one smooth motion, he sat up on his knees, pulling you with him like you weighed nothing. He flipped you so your back was against his chest, your smaller body settled between his spread thighs. His arms wrapped around you from behind — one across your chest, the other sliding down your stomach until his big hand cupped between your legs possessively.

He pressed his hard cock against your ass, thick and obvious through his sweatpants.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your ear, biting the lobe gently. “That’s what you do to me. Just by being this fucking tiny.”

You moaned softly, head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers started slow, teasing circles over your sleep shorts. The TV was still playing explosions in the background, completely ignored.

Sunghoon kissed the side of your neck, slow and open-mouthed, while his hand kept working you.

“Tell me what you want, jagi,” he whispered, voice sweet but filthy. “Want me to keep manhandling you? Or do you want me to fuck you like the tiny little thing you are?”

He squeezed you tighter against him, emphasizing just how easily he could control your whole body.

Your answer came out shaky and needy:

“…Both.”

Sunghoon let out a low, satisfied laugh against your skin and tightened his arms around you.

“Good girl.”

The praise hit you low in your stomach. His voice had gone deeper, that lazy rasp he only got when he was properly turned on. One of his arms stayed banded across your chest, holding you flush against him, while his other hand kept slowly rubbing between your legs over your sleep shorts. The pressure was firm, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to drive you crazy.

You could feel every inch of him behind you. His chest was a solid wall of heat against your back. His thighs on either side of you were thick and firm, caging you in. And his cock — hard, heavy, and insistent — pressed right against your ass, twitching every time you shifted.

He nosed along your neck, breathing you in.

“Lift your hips for me,” he murmured.

You barely had time to process the request before his hands were already moving you. He gripped your waist with both hands and lifted you slightly, pulling your shorts and panties down your thighs in one smooth tug. The fabric caught at your knees before he impatiently yanked them the rest of the way off and tossed them somewhere on the floor.

The cool air hit your bare skin, but it only lasted a second — Sunghoon immediately pulled you back against him, one big hand sliding between your thighs again. This time there was no fabric between his fingers and your pussy.

“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he groaned softly, almost like he was talking to himself. Two of his long fingers dragged slowly through your folds, spreading the wetness. “All this just because I moved you around a little? My tiny baby really has it bad.”

You whimpered, head falling back against his shoulder. He circled your clit with the pads of his fingers — slow, deliberate strokes that made your thighs tremble.

Then, without warning, he slid one thick finger inside you.

The stretch was immediate. Even one of his fingers felt big, especially with how worked up you already were. He pumped it slowly, curling it just right, while his thumb kept rubbing lazy circles on your clit.

“So tight,” he whispered hotly against your ear. “Always so fucking tight for me. Like your body knows how big I am and still tries to take me anyway.”

You moaned louder, hips rolling against his hand. Sunghoon chuckled darkly and used his other arm to hold you still, keeping you pressed tight against his chest so you couldn’t move much.

“Stay still, jagi. Let me play with you.”

He added a second finger, stretching you wider. The wet sound of his fingers moving in and out of you was embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment, even with the movie still playing forgotten in the background.

You reached back, grabbing onto his hoodie, needing something to hold onto. Sunghoon rewarded you by kissing your neck and grinding his hard cock against your ass in time with his fingers.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice rough. “That’s how hard you make me. Just from being this small and pretty and easy to move around.”

He suddenly pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the loss. But before you could complain, he manhandled you again — flipping you onto your back on the couch like you weighed nothing. He settled between your spread thighs, pushing them wide apart with his hands.

For a moment he just looked at you, eyes dark, hair messy, breathing a little heavier. His gray sweatpants were tented obscenely.

Then he leaned down, shoving your hoodie and shirt all the way up and over your head, leaving you in just the sage green bra. He hooked two fingers under the front of it and tugged it down, freeing your breasts.

“Pretty,” he murmured, almost reverently, before leaning in and sucking one nipple into his mouth.

You arched into him with a gasp. His mouth was hot and wet, tongue flicking teasingly while his hand kneaded your other breast. The size difference was even more obvious like this — his large hand completely covering one of your tits, fingers able to touch around it easily.

He switched sides, giving the other the same attention, then started kissing a trail down your stomach.

When he reached your pussy, he didn’t tease. He licked a slow, broad stripe up your center, then wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Your hands flew to his hair, thighs trying to close around his head, but he easily pushed them back open with those strong arms, holding you spread for him.

He ate you out like he was starving — messy, hungry, focused. The wet sounds mixed with your broken moans and his low groans of approval. Every time you squirmed too much, he tightened his grip on your thighs, reminding you how easily he could hold you down.

“Hoon— fuck— I’m close—”

He hummed against you and slid two fingers back inside, curling them perfectly while his tongue kept working your clit.

You came hard, back arching, thighs shaking in his grip. He didn’t stop, working you through it until you were whimpering and pushing at his head.

Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes blown wide with lust.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled back up your body, hovering over you again. The outline of his cock was straining desperately against his sweatpants.

Sunghoon leaned down, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Think you can take me now, baby?” he asked, voice husky. “Or do you want me to manhandle you a little more first?”

You barely managed a shaky breath before answering.

“…Manhandle me,” you whispered, cheeks burning.

Sunghoon’s eyes flashed with dark satisfaction. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he sat back on his knees, towering over you on the couch.

“Greedy girl.”

In one fluid motion, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach like you were weightless. He pulled your ass up high, forcing you onto your knees while keeping your chest pressed down against the cushions. The position made you feel incredibly small — face down, ass up, completely exposed for him.

His big hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he admired the view.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, almost reverently. One hand slid up your spine, pressing you down harder into the couch. “So tiny like this. I can fit both my hands around your waist… and still have room.”

You felt the couch dip as he shifted closer. The sound of fabric rustling filled the air as he finally pushed his sweatpants and boxers down. His cock sprang free, heavy and hot, slapping against your ass cheek.

He rubbed the thick head along your soaked folds, teasing your entrance without pushing in.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice suddenly softer for a second, even as his grip on your hip stayed firm.

Then he started pressing in.

The stretch was intense. Even after his fingers and his tongue, the sheer girth of him made your mouth fall open in a silent moan. Inch by inch, he sank into you, slow and controlled, growling low in his throat.

“Shit… so tight,” he hissed. “You’re squeezing me so fucking hard, jagi. Like your pussy doesn’t want to let me in… but you’re still taking every inch.”

When he bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt impossibly full. The size difference was overwhelming — his much larger body completely covering yours, his chest pressed to your back, one arm braced beside your head while the other wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, lips brushing your ear.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “I’m so deep I can feel your stomach bulging a little when I push in.”

You moaned brokenly, fingers clawing at the couch cushion.

Sunghoon started moving — deep, powerful thrusts that made your whole body rock forward. Every time he drove back in, his hips slapped against your ass, the sound filthy and loud. His free hand reached under you, pressing against your lower stomach so he could feel himself moving inside you.

Sunghoon started moving — deep, powerful thrusts that made your whole body rock forward with every snap of his hips. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the living room, filthy and rhythmic, barely covered by the explosions still playing on the forgotten TV. His free hand stayed pressed firmly against your lower stomach, feeling the way his cock bulged slightly inside you with every thrust.

“Fuck, jagi,” he groaned, voice rough but still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

You whimpered into the cushion, fingers twisting in the fabric as he drove into you again, harder this time. The stretch was overwhelming in the best way — he was thick, long, and unrelenting, making your thighs tremble every time he bottomed out.

“Too big,” you gasped, half-complaint, half-plea.

Sunghoon let out a breathy laugh, the sound warm despite how hard he was fucking you.

“Too big?” He slowed his thrusts just to grind deep, rolling his hips in filthy circles. “You’re the one who got dripping wet when I moved you like a doll. Don’t act like you don’t love how big I am now.”

He leaned over you completely, his broad chest pressing against your back, caging you in. The weight of him was grounding and overwhelming all at once. One of his hands found yours on the couch, easily covering it completely as he intertwined your fingers.

You let out a broken moan, pushing back against him despite your words. Sunghoon grinned against your neck and bit down gently, the same cuteness aggression from earlier creeping back in even while he was buried inside you.

“Brat,” he whispered fondly, then suddenly pulled out.

You whined at the loss, turning your head to glare at him over your shoulder.

“Sunghoon—”

But he was already manhandling you again. He flipped you onto your back like it was nothing, hooking his hands under your knees and folding you in half. Your thighs pressed against your chest as he settled between your legs, lining himself up again.

“This is better,” he said smugly, pushing back inside you in one smooth thrust. “I like seeing your face when you’re trying so hard not to moan my name.”

You slapped his chest weakly, laughing through a moan.

“You’re so annoying— ah!”

He cut you off with a particularly deep thrust, bottoming out completely. The new angle made you see stars. Sunghoon’s eyes darkened as he watched your face, drinking in every reaction like it was his favorite thing in the world.

“There she is,” he murmured, starting a brutal pace again. “My noisy girlfriend.”

The couch creaked under you both as he fucked you harder, his hips snapping against yours. Sweat was starting to cling to his skin, making his black compression shirt stick to his broad chest. You reached up, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric, pulling him down closer.

Sunghoon obliged, folding you even more as he kissed you messily. It wasn’t graceful — it was desperate, tongues and teeth, little laughs breaking through when your noses bumped.

“You’re laughing during sex?” you gasped, half-offended, half-amused.

“Can’t help it,” he grinned, nipping at your bottom lip. “You’re just so fucking cute when you’re getting railed. Look at you… all folded up and taking me so well.”

He shifted his weight onto one arm and used the other to press your thigh higher, opening you up even more. The change made him hit a spot that had you crying out, back arching.

“Right there?” he asked, voice cocky but genuinely focused on your pleasure. “Yeah? That’s my girl.”

Your hands moved to his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle there. Even now, in the middle of intense sex, Sunghoon couldn’t stop being Sunghoon. He kept murmuring little comments between thrusts — some filthy, some stupidly sweet.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight… my tiny pussy trying to keep me inside.” Then, softer: “You’re so pretty like this, jagi. Love you so much.”

The mix of his dirty praise and genuine affection made your head spin. You felt the pressure building again, fast and overwhelming.

“Hoon— I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “Come on, baby. Come for me. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”

He reached between you and rubbed tight circles on your clit, never slowing his thrusts. The combination sent you over the edge hard. Your orgasm crashed through you, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around him as you moaned his name.

Sunghoon fucked you through it, pace turning sloppy as he chased his own release.

“Fuck— you’re so tight when you come,” he hissed, burying his face in your neck. A few more deep thrusts and he came hard, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you with a low, broken groan.

For a moment, the only sounds were both of you breathing heavily and the distant movie still playing in the background.

Sunghoon stayed buried inside you as he carefully lowered your legs, letting you stretch out. He didn’t pull out right away. Instead, he collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you completely, and nuzzled into your neck like a big clingy cat.

“You okay?” he asked softly, pressing lazy kisses to your sweaty skin. The cuteness aggression was back in full force now that the heat had settled — he was gently biting your shoulder, then kissing the same spot.

You let out a tired laugh, running your fingers through his damp hair.

“I think you broke me.”

He lifted his head, grinning proudly.

“Good. That was the plan.” Then his expression softened. “But seriously… was it too much? I know I get carried away when you look at me like that.”

You shook your head, smiling up at him.

“It was perfect. Even if you are an annoying, smug giant.”

Sunghoon chuckled and kissed you sweetly, slow and deep, before finally pulling out. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and pulled it over both of you, tucking you against his chest like he always did after sex.

“You know,” he murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back, “next time you get shy about your size kink… I’m just gonna remind you how loud you moaned when I folded you in half.”

You groaned, hiding your face in his chest.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, jagi.”

He laughed softly, pulling you even closer, the two of you tangled together on the couch as the movie finally ended in the background.

Sunghoon stayed buried inside you for a few more moments, both of you catching your breath. Then he slowly pulled out with a quiet groan, immediately reaching for the tissues on the coffee table. He was gentle as he cleaned you up, wiping between your thighs with careful strokes.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, almost to himself. His voice had lost all the teasing edge, replaced by that soft, low tone he only used when he was feeling protective.

You let out a tired hum, eyes half-closed. “That’s your fault, giant.”

He smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up. Even now, right after sex, he moved with that effortless grace. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a warm, damp towel and a bottle of water.

“C’mere, jagi.”

Without waiting for you to move, he slid one arm under your back and the other under your knees, lifting you easily into his lap. You curled into his chest automatically, still feeling floaty. He wiped you down gently with the warm towel, one big hand holding your thigh open while the other cleaned you with slow, soothing strokes.

“Too rough?” he asked quietly, eyes scanning your face.

You shook your head, nuzzling into his neck. “Hell no, I enjoyed it.”

He hummed, satisfied with your answer, and set the towel aside. Then he uncapped the water bottle and brought it to your lips.

“Drink.”

You took a few sips obediently while he held the bottle for you, his other hand rubbing slow circles on your bare back. When you were done, he took a long drink himself before setting it on the table.

Sunghoon pulled the blanket over both of you again and shifted so he was lying on his back with you draped completely on top of him. Your smaller body fit perfectly against his — your head on his chest, legs tangled with his much longer ones. He wrapped both arms around you, one hand resting possessively on your ass under the blanket, the other gently playing with your hair.

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled sleepily, pressing your cheek against his chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating under your ear.

“That’s because I’m a walking heater. Built for tiny girlfriends who get cold easily.”

You lightly pinched his side. “Stop calling me tiny.”

“But you are tiny,” he teased, though his voice was incredibly fond. He hugged you tighter, almost squeezing you. “My perfect little handful.”

You groaned but didn’t pull away. Truthfully, you loved being held like this — completely surrounded by him. His heartbeat was steady under your ear, and his body heat made the blanket feel almost unnecessary.

Sunghoon seemed to sense it, because he pulled you even closer, one large hand gently cupping the back of your head while the other rested possessively on your lower back. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple, his lips warm and soft.

“You’re so quiet now,” he murmured, amusement coloring his tired voice. “Where’s the girl who was calling me annoying ten minutes ago?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled against his chest, but there was no heat in it. Your fingers traced lazy circles over his shirt, feeling the firm muscle underneath. “I’m recovering from you trying to fold me into a pretzel.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You asked for it, jagi. Literally said ‘manhandle me.’” He shifted slightly, adjusting you higher so your face tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck. “But I’ll be gentler next time… maybe.”

You pinched his side weakly. “Liar.”

“Only a little,” he admitted, smiling. His fingers continued threading through your hair in that soothing rhythm, slowly lulling you toward sleep. The rain outside had gotten heavier, creating a gentle white noise that mixed with his steady breathing.

After a long, comfortable silence, Sunghoon spoke again, softer this time.

“Thank you for letting me stay tonight. I know you had work to do.”

You smiled sleepily. “Worth it.”

He hugged you a little tighter, almost instinctively, like he couldn’t help it. “I love you,” he whispered against your hair. “Even when you’re pretending to be mad at me for being big.”

You let out a quiet laugh, already half-asleep. “Love you too, giant.”

Sunghoon stayed awake a little longer, just holding you, occasionally pressing small kisses wherever he could reach — your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your ear. Eventually his own breathing slowed, his body relaxing completely beneath yours as sleep finally took him.

The two of you stayed like that on the couch, tangled together under the blanket — your much smaller frame safely wrapped up in his warmth, the Sunday night feeling a little less borrowed and a lot more like home.

author's note — i didn't edit this btw. planning to write a proper hoon drabble soon bc i HATED this one >< but i did release it because size kink sunghoon was eating the worms in my brain lately and i had to get it out somehow. i know this is cringe ok bye <3