timidollie

[timidollie]

Tether Me

synapse: y/n does what she can to make hyun-ju feel loved and beautiful

pairing: cho hyun-ju x reader

contains: slight smut, fluff, post-games (my wife hyun-ju is in thailand), pre-transitioned hyun-ju

a/n: this could be considered of my something like her series or just a cute one shot

. . .

Y/N giggled, kicking off her sandals as she walked backward into their bedroom, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling under the soft golden light of the lamps. The gauzy curtains swayed with the ocean breeze from the open balcony doors, and the faint hum of cicadas mixed with the distant sound of waves.

Hyun-ju followed close behind, grinning like she couldn’t believe her luck, her bomber jacket long abandoned in the living room and her steps slightly uneven from the wine they’d shared on their beachfront dinner date. Her hand reached for Y/N’s, pulling her gently into a spin like they were still dancing barefoot in the sand.

“You’re drunk,” Y/N teased, laughing as she caught herself against the edge of the bed.

“And you’re beautiful,” Hyun-ju whispered, breathless and honest.

That made Y/N go quiet for a second, heart stuttering in the soft way it always did when Hyun-ju looked at her like that—like she was made of constellations and miracles instead of trauma and scars.

Hyun-ju’s hands found her waist, pulling her close, lips brushing her temple before trailing to her cheek. “I could live a thousand lives,” she murmured, “and I’d still fall in love with you every single time.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “You’re so sappy when you’re tipsy.”

“I mean it,” she said, lips now at the corner of her mouth. “Every word.”

Y/N leaned forward and kissed her. Deep. Slow. Familiar.

They had only been in Thailand for a month and a half, but they had carved a life in that short time—rebuilding themselves piece by piece. They’d found hospitals that treated Hyun-ju with dignity. They made their house a home, with messy kitchen shelves and laundry half-folded on the couch. They argued over what pillows to buy. They kissed when no one was watching. They healed.

For most couples, this would’ve been too fast.

But for them?

It was perfect.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered against her lips again, her voice quiet and full of meaning.

Hyun-ju smiled, her forehead resting against hers. “Forever.”

And then she kissed her again, as the waves outside whispered that they had made it. Just like they did every night.

Y/N lay back against the bed, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she pulled Hyun-ju down with her, their mouths meeting again in a kiss that was tender and slow at first—but quickly deepened.

Hyun-ju shifted above her, one hand slipping around Y/N’s waist, fingers splayed across her back like she couldn’t get close enough. The kiss turned hungry, unspoken need spilling between them.

Y/N’s hand tangled gently in Hyun-ju’s hair, the other sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips brushing warm skin, mapping the curve of her lower back.

But then, just as the moment swelled with heat, Hyun-ju gently caught her wrist, pulling her hand away. She broke the kiss, breathing a little unevenly.

“Wait,” she whispered, voice apologetic. “I just remembered… I have to be up early tomorrow. Appointment with the doctor about the next surgery.”

Y/N blinked, the shift leaving her slightly breathless. She swallowed her disappointment, managing a small, understanding nod. “Right… yeah. Of course.”

Hyun-ju leaned in and kissed her once more—softly this time, a promise in the way her lips lingered—before she sat up and crossed the room to change into her sleepwear.

Y/N stayed on the bed, her heart still beating just a little too fast, watching her with quiet affection, even as the ache of pause settled in her chest.

. . .

It had been a week since that night, and life with Hyun-ju felt nearly perfect. They were in love—undeniably, deeply—but something still lingered in the back of Y/N’s mind.

She kept thinking about that moment in the bathroom during the Games. The way Hyun-ju had kissed down her neck, the way her hand had hesitated just under her waistband. It had haunted her thoughts ever since—especially on their last date night, when things had nearly gone further… but didn’t.

That same thought returned one quiet night as Y/N stood in their shared bathroom. She was brushing her teeth, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear, while Hyun-ju stood beside her, lazily running a brush through her hair. She wore an oversized button-up and soft cotton shorts, her sleeves rolled halfway up her arms.

Y/N rinsed her mouth, glanced sideways at her. “Hey… do you remember that night in the bathroom? Back in the Games?”

Hyun-ju paused, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah. I remember.”

Y/N hesitated before speaking again, her voice softer. “I’ve been thinking about it… a lot, actually. And lately, it kind of feels like… maybe you’re not interested in picking up where we left off.”

Hyun-ju slowly set her brush down on the counter, turning to face her fully. “It’s not that I’m not interested. God, it’s not that,” she said with a gentle exhale. “It’s just… I’m still not done. With the surgeries. I guess I thought if we waited, then—maybe—I wouldn’t have to worry about you seeing me… differently.”

Y/N stepped closer, her voice steady but warm. “Hyun-ju, that wasn’t even a thought in my head. I don’t care about your body—I love you. I love the person inside it. Not just the shape of it, not what parts you have or don’t.”

Her eyes dropped slightly, glancing over Hyun-ju’s figure—at the dip of her waist, the softness of her legs beneath those shorts, then to the subtle rise between her thighs. Her gaze lingered, not with judgment, but with an aching mix of tenderness, curiosity, and desire.

“I want you,” Y/N said softly. “Whether you’re still transitioning… or not. You’re already everything I want.”

Hyun-ju swallowed hard, her expression cracking open with emotion.

“Really?” she whispered.

Y/N reached for her hand, brushing her knuckles against her cheek. “Really.”

Hyun-ju’s breath hitched, Y/N’s words wrapping around her like something holy. She nodded—faintly at first, like she was still letting herself believe it—and then leaned in. Their lips met in a slow, warm kiss. Familiar, tender, and achingly real.

It wasn’t like before—rushed or born of desperation. This kiss was different. Steady. Full of reverence. The kind that said I see you. I choose you.

Y/N cupped her cheek, thumb brushing lightly along her skin, while her other hand settled gently at Hyun-ju’s waist, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. Hyun-ju let out a quiet sigh, her arms wrapping around Y/N’s back and pulling her close, their bodies molding together.

For once, her racing heart wasn’t from fear—it was want. Need. Trust.

Hyun-ju broke the kiss just long enough to take Y/N’s hand and lead her out of the bathroom. Wordless. Certain. She sat on the edge of the bed and let Y/N move with her, straddling her lap, fitting against her like they belonged that way.

Their lips met again—hungrier now, but still slow. Still intentional. Y/N kissed her like she was proving something: that she was patient. That she wanted her. All of her.

Her fingers moved to Hyun-ju’s shirt, undoing the first button, then the second… before pausing. She looked down at her. “Do you want this? Right now? If you’re unsure, I’ll stop.”

Hyun-ju’s hands slid to Y/N’s hips, gently squeezing. “I want this,” she whispered. “I want you. Just like this. Exactly who we are right now.”

Y/N smiled, her heart blooming. She kissed her again, then slowly resumed unbuttoning the shirt, revealing skin bit by bit. She leaned down, her lips brushing over Hyun-ju’s collarbone in soft, lingering kisses. Then a gentle bite—just enough to tease, enough to make her breath hitch again.

Her hands roamed slowly across newly bared skin, her voice barely above a whisper. “You are so… incredibly beautiful.”

And this time, there was no stopping.

Y/N’s lips moved slowly along Hyun-ju’s neck, each kiss deliberate, each pause filled with breathy warmth and care. She wanted Hyun-ju to feel every second of it—how deeply she was cherished, how none of this was rushed. Just love, steady and patient.

She kissed lower, tracing along the soft curve of her collarbone and then to the exposed skin just above her chest. Hyun-ju let out a quiet sigh, her head tilting back, fingers curling into Y/N’s hips for grounding. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from how overwhelming it felt to be wanted like this.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Y/N whispered against her skin, her voice featherlight. She slowly slid Hyun-ju’s shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall down her arms and away. “I want all of you. Every scar. Every inch you’re still learning to love—I already do.”

A shaky exhale left Hyun-ju’s lips, her eyes fluttering closed. She leaned back into the moment, into the hands that held her without hesitation. “I love you,” she whispered, voice trembling not from doubt—but because it was the most certain thing in the world.

Y/N smiled, her breath warm against Hyun-ju’s skin. “I love you,” she murmured in return, before kissing lower—her mouth trailing across her chest until her lips wrapped softly around her breast.

Hyun-ju gasped, the sound escaping before she could stop it. Her back arched slightly, her thighs tensing as arousal stirred within her—undeniable, real. The bulge beneath her shorts grew, pressing up as her body responded to every kiss, every gentle stroke.

But there was no shame in it. Not here. Not with Y/N, who didn’t flinch, who didn’t hesitate, who looked at her with nothing but hunger and reverence.

Y/N lifted her head for just a moment, gazing down at Hyun-ju’s face. Her lips were parted, her chest rising with each breath, and her eyes—half-lidded, dark with need—held something deeper than desire.

Trust. Safety. Love.

Y/N cupped her cheek, her thumb brushing gently along the curve of her jaw, grounding them both.

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” she whispered, her voice soft, serious. “If you want me to slow down… or stop. Just say it.”

Hyun-ju nodded slowly, her throat tight as she swallowed, voice low and breathless. “You don’t need to be careful with me, Y/N. I want this. I want you.”

That was all Y/N needed.

She leaned down again, kissing her—not with urgency, but with hunger that simmered and bloomed slowly. Her hands roamed, fingertips skimming the familiar curve of Hyun-ju’s waist, the dip of her stomach, the places she had only touched in dreams. She explored her like a prayer, like a promise.

Hyun-ju’s hands slid beneath Y/N’s shirt, gripping the hem before pulling it up and over her head. Their lips broke only briefly as the shirt was discarded, joining Hyun-ju’s on the floor. The kiss that followed was deeper—tongues brushing, breath mingling—as skin pressed to skin.

Hyun-ju’s hips shifted beneath her, the growing arousal beneath her shorts now unmistakable between them. But Y/N didn’t pull back. She leaned into it, letting her body settle against hers, her thighs bracketing Hyun-ju’s sides as she began to slowly rock her hips—gentle, fluid, and deliberate.

A quiet moan escaped her lips at the contact, the friction sending heat rippling through her. Her mouth brushed Hyun-ju’s jaw, her voice a trembling whisper. “You feel amazing…”

Hyun-ju gasped softly in response, her hands trembling slightly as they slid down to Y/N’s hips—then lower. She hooked her fingers around the waistband of Y/N’s underwear, pausing only for a moment.

Y/N’s eyes met hers.

No fear.

Only want.

Only love.

Hyun-ju slowly tugged them down, baring her, and Y/N didn’t shy away. She kissed her again—tender and full of heat—as she pressed closer, ready to show her just how much she meant to her.

. . .

The morning light filtered in through the gauzy white curtains of their bedroom, painting the room in warm, golden hues. The ceiling fan turned lazily above them, the distant sound of waves brushing against the shore barely audible through the open window.

Y/N stirred first.

Hyun-ju’s arm was still draped around her waist, her breath soft and even against the crook of her neck. She was still asleep, peaceful and warm, her face tucked close, as if she didn’t want to be far from her even in dreams.

Y/N smiled to herself.

Last night was still fresh in her body, in her bones, in the way her skin hummed wherever Hyun-ju had touched her. But more than that, it was the trust between them. The whispered confessions. The way they held each other like something sacred.

Y/N turned slightly, brushing a kiss to Hyun-ju’s temple, letting her lips linger.

“You’re still here,” Hyun-ju mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Where else would I be?” Y/N whispered, brushing a hand through her hair.

Hyun-ju smiled against her shoulder, eyes fluttering open. “Last night was…”

“Perfect,” Y/N finished for her, their eyes meeting.

There was a stillness in that moment. Full of emotion neither of them needed to put into words.

“I love you,” Hyun-ju said softly, like it was a truth she could finally breathe without fear.

Y/N leaned in and kissed her—slow, lazy, and full of warmth. “I love you more.”

Hyun-ju chuckled. “Don’t start that battle. You’ll lose.”

Y/N laughed, untangling herself from the sheets. “Wanna bet?”

She pulled on one of Hyun-ju’s oversized T-shirts, the hem brushing her thighs, and padded out of the bedroom, barefoot and glowing. Their little kitchen was sun-drenched, cozy, and smelled faintly of the lemongrass candle they had burned the night before.

She tied her hair up, humming softly as she moved through the space—setting out eggs, vegetables, and rice. It was instinctive, the way she moved, like she’d always belonged in this kitchen, like Hyun-ju’s love had given her roots in a world that had once felt so uncertain.

As the rice cooker whirred and the eggs sizzled in the pan, she glanced toward the bedroom, her heart full.

She was cooking for the woman she loved.

For the woman who had fought beside her, bled beside her, lived.

And who loved her back.

It wasn’t just peace. It was home.

[timidollie]

hyun-ju of the day

[timidollie]

imagine ... being cast in season 2 of the most talked about netflix show squid game. you are given the role of player 222, kim jun-hee, a young pregnant girl who found herself desperate for money, leaving herself with no other option but to turn to the games for the sake of her baby.

overjoyed at the chance to star in such a popular show and work amongst some of the most infamous names in korean media, you hadn't expected that you would be coming away with more than a memorable journey (and maybe an award or two under your belt).

but then you met park sung hoon.

-

this is an idea i've had in my head for awhile now, and with the new footage of all the behind the scenes content i want to write this more than ever. would anyone be interested?

[timidollie]

Rings 'n Things

Nam-Gyu (player 124) x Fem!Reader

Summary: obsessed with a particular ring Nam-Gyu always wears, you want nothing more to have one exactly like it! And despite it being from a capsule machine from 4 years ago, Nam-Gyu makes it his mission to find it again

Warnings: sfw , weed usage , talk about sex , otherwise just some cute shit I can’t get out of my head , despite being sfw this blog is 18+

When Nam-Gyu realizes you don’t just have an obsession with his hands, but, his rings?!!….he’s fixated.

It didn’t take him long to notice at all, you made it more than clear you favored the silver accessories that adorned his long fingers.

Specifically the one on his middle finger. The thick metal one that looks like a chain. He even remembers the first time you said something about it, was at Club Pentagon.

He was off (thank god). But even on his off day he was at the club for Thanos. The rapper had some sort of promotion going on and he was at least 5 blunts deep. Melting into the couch, you were sat pretty on his lap just as stoned as Nam-Gyu was.

Your hand is holding his, playing with his fingers, staring with a lazy smile.

“You good, baby?” Nam-Gyu hums, cocking an eyebrow and tightening his hold on your waist. He chuckles when you wordlessly nod, hazy eyes transfixed by the woven metal of the ring.

“Mhmm~” you’re nodding slowly, chewing on you bottom lip. “I like this ring. It’s pretty.” You say it so simply, like it’s a fact rather than an opinion. “It’s very you.”

You’re giggling, fingers dragging along the sharp metal of the chain design, “bet you got it from a cool ass place, like you have a kick ass back story for it.”

Nam-Gyu lets out a boisterous laugh, falling back onto the couch and squeezing you, “a ‘cool ass place’?” He questions between chuckles, your idea of where he got this ring from far from what it actually was.

“Yeahhh!!” You whine, dropping his hand and dramatically crossing your arms, “god forbid I think my boyfriend’s mysterious and cool.”

Shaking his head, Nam-Gyu is scooping your hand back up in his, interlocking his fingers with yours, “Yeah mysterious alright. S’cause I didn’t know what I was getting.”

Maybe it’s cause you’re high, your mind is sluggish and the loud music of the club doesn’t help with the thought process, but you are not following. Your face is scrunching up and you’re raising a confused eyebrow.

“Huh??”

“I got this from a fucking toy vending machine.” He laughs, turning your clasped hands so the back of his hand was facing you- the ring you love so much right in your view, “Fuckin’ years ago, baby. When I started working here they had those stupid toy vending things- y’know the ones that you put coins in for a prize capsule.”

You look at the ring for a moment, then back to your boyfriend, then back to your favorite ring.

There’s no way!!

Nam-Gyu has worn this damn ring since before you two met! He showers with it, sleeps with it, gone into pools with it. By all accounts, if it was a cheap toy ring- it should have tarnished and stained his finger green. It should have broke!

It was still shiny, the presumably fake tiny diamonds that lined the loop of the chain link design are still as bright and not even chipped!

“Dude, there is no fucking way.”

Nam-Gyu is instantly laughing so hard, they way you say it so nonchalantly, called him ‘dude’ like he didn’t just have you in the meanest mating press before you two came to this event Thanos was hosting…it was so oddly endearing.

“It’s so pretty!” You coo, pulling his hand closer to your face and examining it closer, “it looks so good on you..” you hum, red tinted eyes locking onto the accessory and the lengthy finger it dresses dreamily.

“I dunno how it hasn’t broken. But I guess that’s why I keep it. Shitty, cheap thing- but resilient, like me.”

You scoff and slap his shoulder, “resilient? yes. Cheap? sometimes. Shitty?! Only when you forget to pick up more weed after smoking it all.” You give him a teasing glare, a warning to not talk bad about himself again.

“I kinda wish it was from a store…” you add, brushing a thumb over his knuckle under the ring.

Confused, he’s tilting his head, “wha’ ya’ mean, pretty?”

“I can’t match with you!” You pout, “You got it so long ago, they change those machines out almost every year! And I bet this was like the ‘rare’ one or something so it’d be even harder to get!!”

Nam-Gyu’s eyes widen ever so slightly, his mind going haywire. He was never one to do all this couple-y bullshit…matching outfits? Nope. Those matching shirts with arrows pointing saying things like ‘with her’ or ‘with him’? Fuck no.

But the idea of you not caring about the ring being from a cheap ass toy vending machine, still admiring it as if it was from a luxury jeweler, and still wanting to match with him?! It does something to him that Nam-Gyu cannot explain.

“Awh…damn…” you sigh, realizing you would likely never get a ring that matches his, “Well it’s still a cool story ‘n it’s gotta mean something that it lasted this long!”

You’re getting distracted by another round of shots, mind obviously already on something else and yelling over to Se-Mi to pass you one of the small glasses.

Nam-Gyu doesn’t stop thinking about it though. He can’t. Not when you keep fiddling with his ring, playing with his fingers like it’s second nature to you. You’re in a full blown conversation with Min-Su and Se-mi, yet, you’re still messing with the damn ring.

So after then night began Nam-Gyu’s obsession. He needed to find that fucking toy machine and win you that ring.

Finding the a machine that had the same variety of rings was ridiculous. It wasn’t in the small section of vending machines near Club Pentagon like it used to be.

He can’t even remember the stupid name that the specific ‘blind box’ style ring set it was in. He could see the boringly colored advertising picture but the characters that spelled out the cheesy set name or even the brand name were nothing but blurred blobs.

After what felt like the 50th failed location, Nam-Gyu is kicking a rock in frustration towards the stupid group of capsule toy machines. There’s probably 10 total here on the wall and not a single one is what he needs!!!

Maybe he can just give you his. This whole search is stupid!

But you didn’t want his ring, you specifically asked where he got it to match with him. And of course you asked with that stupid ass smile that he could literally never say no to.

Groaning, he’s sucking in a deep breath and trying to remember.

Pounding music. Cold air. Laughter. He’s outside Club Pentagon, smoking a cigarette and drunk as fuck- in front of the machines trying to see straight. He’s talking to Thanos about what ring he hopes to get, expecting nothing more than to get the childish ring pop style ring that the machine advertises.

Nam-Gyu remembers that the obnoxious purple haired rapper was there the day he got ring. He has to have some idea!! He’s pulling out his phone and leaning against the alley wall.

‘Dude you remember when I got this fuck ass chain ring?’

Nam-Gyu sends the text, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he waits for the text back. This can’t end here- he needs to get you this fucking ring.

‘The one from that machine? Wasn’t that the night you met your girl? Haha! You were so funny, that’s why you went to that fucking machine’

‘Said you were gonna get one to propose to her cause she made you see stars in the club bathroom’

Nam-Gyu chuckles at his phone, thankful that Thanos seemed to have more recollection of the night than he did.

‘Yeah that 1. Do you remember anything about it? Name or something???’

‘Fuck no I don’t. I can’t even remember the last time I paid my bills man, you expect me to keep up with some toy vending machine?’

Nam-Gyu throws his head back against the brick wall. fuck, he’s screwed. He’s got nothing to go on.

His phone vibrates again.

‘I do have a picture of you asleep on the bench in front of it though.’

That fucking dick!! Nam-Gyu is typing rapidly, begging him to send it. He can’t even send the text before an image from Thanos is popping up in the text chat. Tapping on the picture and zooming in so fast his phone lags, he’s trying to make out the name of the toy company.

Nam-Gyu finds it! And he even manages to find a location that has the damn thing!

…the next step is the hardest, though.

Trying to win the ring.

With the random drop of the annoying plastic capsules and the ‘rarity’ of the chain ring you’re oh-so enamored with, He’s going to need a lot of coins. And it’s not exactly easy to hide from you.

A fuck ton of coins and multiple trips out to this vending machine on his work breaks- you’re catching on faster than he’d like.

“Nam-Gyu.”

You said it like a mother a bout to scold a child, a questioning lilt at the end of it like you’re expecting him to admit to whatever it was your stopping him for.

He’s freezing halfway out the door and turning on his heels, “yeahhhh?”

“Why the hell are your pockets jingling so loud?”

“Oh!! Uh…just coins for the snacks in the vending machine.” He’s giving you a tight lipped smile, cheeks flushing red just by the fact he’s lying straight to your face.

“You need that many? Your pants are weighed down.”

Your stern expression spreads into a wide, amused smile, “If you’re that hungry you need’ta buy that many snacks out the vending machine I’ll make you dinner for work.”

You’re crossing the room and coming to stop inches in front of him, hand reaching out to hold his cheek and bring him down to kiss you.

Pulling away, you’re tapping his cheek affectionately, “Lemme know next time ‘n I’ll have it ready for when you go to work.”

Fuck, he would die for you.

Nodding, Nam-Gyu is pressing another chaste kiss to your lips, “mhmm, will do. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”

He thinks he’s off the hook, that maybe that little occurrence of you being suspicious wouldn’t happen again….however, the excess plastic capsules the rings come in and the rings he gets that are not the one he needs…aren’t exactly easy to hide.

And boy howdy does Nam-Gyu procure a shit ton of those things. Each one, clear plastic bottom with a colorful cap that pops off to reveal the ring that he doesn’t need, time and time and time again.

He’s throwing so many coins into the machine at once he often stuff the unopened pods into his hoodie pockets and opening them on the way home. If he was smarter he would have opened them somewhere to dispose of them…but he doesn’t and now he’s returning home with pockets full of capsules and cheesy toy rings.

You find them, it’s not hard to- they end up everywhere.

“The fuck are these?” You hum, genuinely confused as to where these pods were coming from, you saw one here and there and dismissed it but this has gotten to be the 5th one today.

“You know what these are?”

Nam-Gyu pauses his video game and turns back around on the couch. You’re holding the capsule up, staring at it with a scrunched brow.

“It was under the couch- Clementine prolly kicked it under there…” you say looking over to the black cat curled up by Nam-Gyu, “but I mean…where the fuck did this come from I’ve been seeing them everywhere.”

His heart is in his ass, face going pale. This can’t be ruined now- he’s been planning to hard on how to get this damn ring and how extravagantly he was going to present it to you- he cannot let this fumble now.

He’s thinking of another lie to tell you although the last thing he wants to do is lie to you.

“Meeeoowww.”

The black cat, Clementine, gets up from her spot and stretches, hopping off the couch and stretching.

The cat!

“Oh! Some new dealer at work ‘s been giving out samples and I keep forgetting to throw ‘em out but clementine seems to like to play with them!”

Half lie! Thats better than lying right?!

He watches as you pause, seem to mull it over, then shrug.

“Loser.” You pout, “not sharing.” And then you’re tossing the plastic pod onto the floor, eyes crinkling with glee when you see the precious cat sprint around the couch and begin to play with the capsule.

Nam-Gyu is letting out the biggest sigh and laughing nervously along with you, “Next time I’ll be sure to bring somethin’ back f’you.”

He spends so, so long, trying to get this fucking ring that he’s thought of every possible way he wants to give it to you.

A nice date? He takes you out to dinner and gives it to you then? Or maybe a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a cute little display for the ring in the middle??

He can’t decide but each crank of the little dial and click of the machine dispensing has him more and more excited to get the prize he’s been aiming for.

He goes to that same spot so often, using the same vending machine that he’s sure the shopkeepers nearby have become uneasy with him- a grown man using a toy vending machine on the daily, handfuls of tries at a times- yeah it’s a little odd.

Nam-Gyu is there so frequently he knows he’s the only one using this damn thing!! Every time he manages to make the little machine less full, 15 or some-odd capsules at the ground by his feet sporting the same vibrant colors inside the plastic pods of the many rings he knows are not the one he needs.

He nearly gives up, he does!! He’s gone weeks trying for this damn ring- he should have just bought you some pretty little ring at one of those expensive stores, it would have amounted to about the same price!

Telling himself one more time, he’s b-lining down the alleyway and to the group of vending machines.

Slotting a coin in the one he’s become accustomed with, he’s cranking the knob once, twice, three times… and it’s not the one he needs.

Again. Not the one.

…okay…again, fucking lime green star ring.

Again!!!? Nope!! Pink ring with purple crown in the middle.

Nam-gyu looks to the pile on the ground in front of him, he’s just let them drop unceremoniously as this point. 20. Fuck, he can’t keep doing this. This is insane at this point.

He bends down, beginning to shovel each stupid little pod into his jeans, grumbling expletives to himself. When he looks up to stand back to his full height, he’s pausing half way- face level with the vending machine.

One left. There is one capsule left.

And Nam-Gyu can see the familiar chain-link design.

He almost trips over himself as he stands back up. Shaky hands line up the coin to the slot and shove it in with a speed Nam-Gyu had no idea he had.

One twist, another, and then one last twist- the singular pod plops! Down into the machines prize door.

At first, although he could see the ring from the outside of the plastic container, Nam-Gyu thinks he’s hallucinating. He’s done more drugs than he’s willing to admit and he’s well aware that in times of desperation he can slip into a state much like one from a drug trip.

Nearly cracking the pod when he opens it Nam-Gyu is dumping the ring and the small paper with the numerical size of the ring into his clammy palm.

It’s the ring.

And it looks like it will fit you perfectly.

All ideas of how he’d present it to you are out the window. Nam-Gyu is booking it back to the apartment and barreling through the front door.

Out of breath and dizzy, he’s hauling ass through the apartment to the bedroom where he’d know you’d be. It’s late- he’s coming back from work and he knows you’d be asleep but he cannot wait.

Fumbling over his own feet, Nam-Gyu is leaping onto the edge of the bed, “Baby.” He says, reaching out a hand to shake your leg. When there’s no reaction, he’s crawling up the bed and hovering over you, hand on your waist and shaking you back and forth.

“Baby…baby! I know you’re sleepin’, m’ sorry- i gotta- you gotta wake up f’this. Jus’ for a minute.”

Groggily, your eyes are fluttering open and trying to adjust to the bright light of the TV you left on, “H-huh? Nam-Gyu?” You call out, face scrunched in tired confusion.

“Yeah ‘s me.” He huffs, rolling the blankets back to grab your hand. “I got something for you. I-I’ve been working to find this for…you don’t know how long.”

Fighting your sleepiness your sitting up and bed and trying your best to look at what he’s doin, “Wha- what do you mean? H-uh?”

He laughs a bit, finding your more than delirious state so cute, “C’mon ya gotta wake up just a bit. You don’t wanna know what I went through to get this.”

You’re rubbing your blurry eyes, trying to focus on what exactly Nam-Gyu has gripped in his hand, it’s one of those things that he said the dealer at his work was using as packaging.

“If it’s drugs ‘Gyu…it can wait. ‘M sleepy.”

You’re already tugging against him, trying to plop back down on the bed. Nam-Gyu is jolting upright and moving forward, grabbing your arm and pulling keeping you upright before he’s crawling over you completely, pulling you into a sitting position as he straddles your lap.

“Nuh-uh, y’gotta stay up.” Nam-Gyu says anxiously, “not drugs baby. It’s- no you gotta look, see!!!”

You hear the pop! of the plastic pod and feel him slip something on your middle finger. It takes a minute, but your eyes focus. It’s a ring.

It’s his ring.

“Nam-Gyu you know I can’t take this!” You say wide eyed, looking to him and hastily going to remove the chain link ring.

Slender hands are clasping around your own and you’re pausing, your favorite ring of his is still on his finger.

“Not mine, dummy. Yours.” He corrects.

“You- what- how?!!” you squeal, pulling your hand to your face to look closer at the ring- it really was exactly what you wanted. A matching one exactly like his.

“It was a capsule vending machine- those rotate and it’s been like 4 years since we met and you told me you got it the day we met- it had to have not been in production anymore! And the amount of tries that would have taken!? Nam-Gyu you had to have been doing this for so long-”

You’re ranting, babbling on about the more than obvious trials and tribulations he had to go through to get this ring for you.

Nam-Gyu is squishing your cheeks together, forcing your words to die out into incomprehensible mumbles.

“Yes all of that is correct. Thank you, Nostradamus.” He teases as he can see the calculations running through your head as you try to philosophize the odds of how long this must have took him- as if the obsessive amount of plastic pods wasn’t enough.

You’re pouting, no real mirth behind the expression. You can hardly keep up the charade when your eyes go back down to the ring you’ve been wishing to own for a while.

It’s how he took a small conversation and remembered what you said. How he spend more money than he should have to obtain it. The lengths he went to do please you- all of it had your heart melting.

“You never stop playing with mine. Obsessed with staring at it” Nam-Gyu finally adds, “You had the most devastated look on your face when I told you we couldn’t match..” his grip is loosening on your cheeks, palm still resting under your chin.

“So of course…” a thumb is running along your bottom lip, “I had to be a good boyfriend and get my girl the gift she wanted by any means necessary.”

His hand is dropping from your face and back to your hand with the ring, intertwining your fingers. With fingers interlocked and palms pressed together, the chain link rings are sat just inches apart on each of your fingers.

He’s turning his wrist, bringing the back of your hand to his lips- pressing a soft kiss to the new ring on your middle finger.

Sucking in a deep breath, Nam-Gyu pauses for a moment before thinking of what to say, “nothing, and not even some fuck ass toy vending machine, could keep me from tryin’ to make you happy.”

You’re smiling, you have been since he woke you up. It’s been so long your cheeks are staring to hurt!! “Nam-Gyu this is possibly the best thing anyone has done for me I-“ you cut yourself off with a yawn

He laughs, “‘M sorry for waking you up.” Nam-Gyu says, smiling back at you with a fondness for your lazy smile, “You can go back to bed, sleepy.”

“Back to bed?!” You’re saying in a tone of mock offense, “Nope. You gave me the best gift ever and!!!! You still gotta smoke your after work blunt and now that I’m up I wanna smoke too.”

He’s cocking up a teasing eyebrow, “y’sure? You look like you’re gonna pass out”

Your eyes are fluttering and even as Nam-Gyu does most the work of keeping you upright in bed, you’re swaying- staying up isn’t going to be an option.

Nam-Gyu sighs and pushes you back onto the bed, “you lay here and I’ll roll for us, okay pretty?”

The second your head hits the pillow, your eyes are shutting and your breath is slowing, “mhm….” You mumble out, “wake me back up for the blunt.” The longer your sentence drawls on the more jumbled and incoherent your words get.

He does attempt to get up to roll but you’re instantly grabbing at his hand , fingers threading into the slots between his fingers and going directly to their intended spot- fiddling with his ring.

When Nam-Gyu looks over to you, face smushed in the pillow and already relaxing into a softened sleepy expression. He smiles, admiring you for a moment and how cozy you’ve seem to make yourself in his bed.

Nam-Gyu gets another look at the ring he’s practically gone to war for sitting pretty on your finger right next to his matching one, he figures the ‘after work blunt’ can be postponed- he really doesn’t want to move.

I couldn’t get this out my head I hope this wasn’t stupid 😭

Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills @thequeenbmulan @infinetlyforgotten @gothinlove @seaweef @lov3lycosmos @lunaryoongie

[timidollie]

hwang junho x reader, no spoilers for season 3!

hwang junho who’s the most protective boyfriend you’ve ever had, and he’s proud of that title! and even though you like to tease him and pretend it annoys you, you secretly really love it and don’t want him to ever change <3

like listen, he’s a cop, it’s sort of a given that he’s gonna be at least a little protective of everyone he’s close with. it’s been hammered into junho’s instincts to protect those around him, but after everything that’s happened with his brother and discovering the games, he can’t risk anything happening to you. you’re his everything, and if you ever got hurt under his watch — even just a little bit — he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

junho’s protectiveness shows itself in all the little things. like, how he always follows the sidewalk rule, walking on the side nearest the road, shielding you from passing traffic with his body. he does it unconsciously at first — stepping around you if you’re on the outer edge of the sidewalk, nudging you away to take your place. after a while of this, of him gently correcting you every time you accidentally walk on the outer edge, you get used to it and fall into the habit of walking on the “safe side” of the sidewalk, as he calls it.

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

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

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

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

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

-

thank u for reading, reblogs are appreciated! also my request are open for junho hehe x

[timidollie]

Put 'em up

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Changbin X gn reader

Summary: You patch up your injured boyfriend after he does something dumb.

Genre: Reverse comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.7k

_ _ _

The sound of the front door opening and a loud groan caused your head to jerk upright. Before you, scattered pieces of an incomplete puzzle. Edges wrapped around one side and corner pieces in another. Colors that blend together and random pieces that you’d yet to figure out where they went. 

Puzzling wasn’t your favorite pastime, but after a long day of work, it felt like a good way to forget societal pressure. It worked, too. At least, it worked until your boyfriend’s hisses and whines continued. You were snapped from your puzzle mystery and stood up from the dining room chair. 

“Baby?” You called out, cautiously. When a groan responded, you moved through the dining room and into the sunny living room. You tried once again. “Did you pull another muscle in dance practice? I thought Chan told you to stretch a certain way, so you-” 

At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing. A slumped body stood against the front door. His head tipped back, revealing a bobbing adam’s apple. He hissed again and pushed himself up. 

“Why are you acting like you’ve been beaten with a baseball bat?” 

“Only a little off, baby. Minho’s fists are almost like tiny bats.” He shifted and winced. “Except they move a lot faster and they pack a big punch.” 

Your eyes widened. “Um, excuse me? Did the two of you get into a fight?” 

“Yes and no.” He finally shifted, so he could look at you. Your heart dropped at the sight of bruises lining the side of his jaw. The end of his left eye socket puffed up with a rotten shade of brown. A bottom busted lip brought along dried blood. “Do I still look good?” 

“You look like an idiot. What the hell happened?” Your feet propelled you forward and you reached out with gentle hands. “What the fuck did you two do?” 

He cried out as your hand cupped the side of his jaw. You jerked it back. Fire radiated through his skin and ran up to his ear. “Sorry, sorry. It hurts.” 

“Well, no shit sherlock.” You reached forward with your hand again and pulled it back before you could touch him. Heat radiated off his entire body. “Seriously, what happened?” 

“We were boxing.” 

“Were you? Were you really? Because right now, it looks like Minho beat the shit out of you.” 

“He did.” 

You met his dark eyes without a word. Your lips pursed and a sigh slowly fell through your nose. “If something happened between you and Minho-” 

“Baby, it’s not like that. You know what they say, ‘boys will be boys,’ or whatever.” He weakly chuckled, but you didn’t find amusement in his words. He reached down and gently grabbed your hand. “Minho and I were screwing around. I challenged him to a real boxing match.” 

He placed your hand against the uninjured side of his cheek. Your face tightened in a panic. “You’re not trained in boxing! Changbin!” 

“I know that now. I thought with my muscles, I could give him a run for his money. It turns out, despite my big, strong muscles, I’m not equipped for the quickness in boxing. At least, not yet.” 

“You are such a goddamn idiot.” Your thumb lightly ran over the bruise forming below his eye. His face tensed, but he didn’t push you away. “Why didn’t Minho stop you?” 

“Because Minho likes teaching people lessons?” 

Another unamused look on your end caused him to chuckle. “You’re not funny. Babe, you could have seriously been so injured. What about your company? How are they going to-” 

“I have an incredible makeup artist.” 

“You should give them a tip for dealing with your stupidity.” Your eyes glanced over. When you saw his knuckles, your stomach twisted. You reached over your arm and grabbed his wrist. “Did you not use boxing gloves?” 

“Well…” 

Your head shook and you lowered his arm. “You can’t do this to yourself. This is reckless and dangerous. Playing for shits and giggles, or not, this isn’t okay.” You shifted your hand to turn his face. “Hits like these can cause concussions and concussions can cause serious head injuries.” 

“You sound like my mother.” 

“If I was your mother and you weren’t injured, I’d whack you upside the head. Come on, let’s go clean you up.” 

He tried to hide his grin as you led him to the bathroom by his wrist. Despite your panicked words, he knew they were entirely from worry and love. Your words were always out of love, even if they sounded harsh to the average eavesdropper. 

In the bathroom, you flicked on the overhead fluorescent white light. Your reflections appeared in the mirror, letting Changbin glance at himself for the first time since walking out of the gym. “Oh, fuck.” 

You rolled your eyes and led him to the toilet. “Sit down, so I can fix your mess.” 

“To be fair, it looks a lot worse than it feels.” 

“Yeah, right.” The words shot out in sarcasm. “How did Minho come out of this? Unscathed?” 

“Uh… no?” 

Your narrowed eyes caused him to glance over to the shower. “Okay, so maybe he’s unharmed. I mean, you should be proud of me though! I did get a chance to clip his shoulder. I went like-” He swung out his arm and then hissed. “Oof. Definitely a pulled muscle.” 

“Jackass.” 

“I love you, too.” 

You glanced at him, taking in all the bruises. “Is there anywhere else that hurts?” 

“My heart. You’re kinda being a little mean. I’m trying to be brave. I’m a short king!” He pushed himself up higher on the toilet. “I have to defend my baby somehow! What if these muscles don’t scare off bad guys?” 

“First of all, I’m completely okay on my own. I appreciate you trying, but I don’t like it when your actions get you hurt. You're fragile, Bin. You can’t try to fight people without proper equipment and knowledge, even if your heart is in the right place.” 

His shoulders slumped in defeat. You couldn’t stand the frown on his face. You turned to grab a washcloth, so you could wipe the blood from his bottom lip. After getting it wet, you turned back to him. 

“Are you really mad at me?” He glanced up through his lashes. “I didn’t mean to make you worried, I just-” 

“I’m mad because your actions have reminded me that you’re fragile. We only get this one life and I’d rather spend it cuddling and loving you than wiping your own blood from your body. Now please put your chin up, so I can wipe off the dried blood.” 

He sighed and let you work. You tried to avoid the bruises along the side of his jaw, but it was nearly impossible. His nose wrinkled in pain, but he didn’t try to stop you. With warm water, you gently dabbed at the blood. 

“How did you end up with bruised knuckles if you weren’t hitting Minho?” 

“We were practicing on punching bags.” 

“Of course, you were.” 

“You should have seen me, baby. I throw a pretty good punch. One punch from me in the face and I’m knocking lights out. Wa-ah!” He threw his non-injured hand, nearly taking you out in the process. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?” 

His hands went to your hips, gently steadying you. “I didn’t knock your nose, did I?” 

“Not yet. You’re a bull in a china shop. Please refrain from trying to kill me. Minho might be able to survive your punches, but I don’t think I will.” 

“Are you implying that I’d hurt you?” He jerked up onto his feet. “Baby, I wouldn’t! I’m not like that! Who would do such a thing? See! This is why Minho is going to teach me boxing! I’ve gotta protect you.” 

“You’ve got a big heart, Bin.” 

“Hell yeah, I do! Nobody and I mean nobody touches my baby! Leave ‘em alone! We’ll tussle in the streets!” 

“Tussle in the sheets,” you mumble beneath your breath. 

“Huh?” He glanced down, unsure of what you said. 

“Nothing. Nothing.” You smiled and cautiously patted his non-injured shoulder. “Sit and let me wrap up your knuckles. I think we have gauze from a while ago.” 

He perched himself back on the porcelain throne. His eyes went down to his knuckles. A plump purple bloomed and brown stained. He grimaced and looked at the other one. “You’re right, it does look bad.” 

You hummed and retrieved the elastic bandages you needed. You worked in silence, letting all your attention stay on his knuckles. “How does it feel?” 

“Better. You always make my injuries feel better. You know exactly what to do and-” He stopped speaking when he realized you were staring at him. When he glanced up, you were grinning. “What are you doing?” 

You shrugged and went back to wrapping the bandage between his spread fingers. “Admiring the view.” 

His face fell and then morphed. A strawberry red brushed his cheeks. “Stop!” He giggled, reaching out and gently hitting your shoulder. “You’re not supposed to flatter me! That’s my job!” 

“Well, you know, I didn’t expect to find a knockout today, but here I am. I can nurse your pride back to health too, if you need me to.” You shot him a quick wink and secured the bandage.  

His cheeks darkened and he squirmed. “Yah, stop! Enough! Enough!” He squealed and covered his face. “I can’t take it! You’re being so cute! My heart is-” 

You cocked your head. “Skipping beats? Racing? Giving up completely? Should I add CPR to your treatment plan? I thought you were tough, but you’re folding faster than your footwork.” 

“Hey!” 

You laughed, spinning around to wash your hands. He opened his mouth and then closed it. He opened it again, took a breath, but no words came out. “You are-” 

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re not supposed to be so wound up. You’re lucky that I took time to patch you up. One more compliment and I think you’ll combust.” 

He groaned, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I can’t believe I’ve been beat twice today. Minho beat me up. You’re stealing my swag.” 

“Consider being beaten a third time.” 

“Huh?” 

You dried your hands, shrugged, and headed off towards your bedroom. He paused for a minute, but when it clicked, his eyes widened. “Hey! Enough! You little-” 

Your laughter haunted him from your shared room. 

“You little shit! Get back here, right now! I’m not done with you!” 

What started with your worry ended with a smirk as he rushed after you and slammed the bedroom door shut.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg

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[timidollie]

Busted : Not-So-Secret!

pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader 

warnings ; none.

authors note ; haii ! these are just connected with the first seunghyun fic i wrote!!

It's been months now since you started dating Seunghyun, and in that time, you both kept your relationship private. You hadn't told anyone—not your parents, not your friends, and Seunghyun hadn't shared it with his bandmates or closest friends. It wasn't that either of you minded the secrecy, but given Seunghyun's status as an idol, it seemed like the right decision. The thought of the media's constant scrutiny made you anxious, and Seunghyun, ever protective, felt it was better to stay quiet. Neither of you had an issue with it; the relationship felt just as genuine, even without anyone knowing.

That was until...

Seunghyun was in the practice room, rehearsing for the upcoming concert. The energy was high, but once break time was called, he stepped off the stage and returned to sit down with his members to cool off.

“Today is so hot, I’m melting...” Ji Yong groaned, stretching his legs and sinking deeper into his seat.

“Drink up,” Taeyang said, handing him a bottle of water, his tone casual as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Seunghyun took a moment to catch his breath, glancing at his friends. “Is there no more water left?” he asked, still panting lightly from the intense rehearsal.

"I'll go get a few," he added, standing up and making his way out of the practice room. His mind wandered for a moment as he stepped into the hallway, the familiar hum of the building surrounding him. Seunghyun couldn’t help but think about you, wondering if you were doing okay or if you missed him but for now, though, he shook it off and headed toward the vending machines to grab some water, knowing he'd be back in just a few minutes.

Back in the practice room, the place was quiet, the only sound being the occasional rustle of clothing or the soft hum of the air conditioning. Suddenly, Seunghyun’s phone, which had been left on his seat, lit up with a notification. The members didn’t initially pay it any attention, until Daesung, noticing the sudden light, took a glance at the phone.

“Oh...?” Daesung murmured, touching the phone screen. His curiosity piqued, he unlocked it and revealed the wallpaper.

Ji Yong and Taeyang, who had been lost in their own thoughts, turned their heads to Daesung, who was now holding Seunghyun’s phone.

“What on earth are you...?” Taeyang began, his voice filled with confusion.

“No! Look!” Daesung interrupted, excitedly swiping at the screen again, showing them the lockscreen image.

It was a candid picture Seunghyun had taken of you, smiling softly beside the moon model at the planetarium, the photo captured during your first date.

“Oooooo, he’s got a girl nowww,” Ji Yong teased, leaning in closer to the phone, but Taeyang quickly placed his palm between them and moved his face further away from the screen.

“Stop it, he’s going to get mad,” Taeyang warned, his voice serious, but there was a playful undertone.

Daesung, still grinning, shook his head, clearly amused. “I didn’t know he was sneaking around.’’

The room went silent for a moment, the members exchanging looks. They all knew Seunghyun, and if there was one thing they understood, it was that he was a lot more private than most.

“Look, we shouldn’t get into his business,” Taeyang said, gesturing for Daesung to put the phone back where it was. “How do you even know it’s his girlfriend?”

“Are you really asking that?” Ji Yong raised an eyebrow, looking at Taeyang like he was out of his mind.

Daesung opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, the door to the practice room opened, and Seunghyun walked in, chugging down a bottle of water. The members quickly straightened up, trying to act casual.

“This never happened,” Taeyang whispered sharply, shooting the others a warning look to keep quiet.

Seunghyun glanced around the room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. He set the water bottle down and took a seat, not noticing that his phone had been moved. The others quickly looked away, trying to act as normal as possible.

But Daesung couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips, though he quickly masked it with a serious expression. The silence hung heavy for a moment, but Seunghyun didn’t seem to notice.

Seunghyun grabbed his phone from the seat and unlocked it, quickly glancing at the screen before his attention shifted to the group. Without missing a beat, he tossed a bottle of water toward Daesung, who caught it easily.

"You're going to die in this weather," Seunghyun said, his tone casual as he leaned back in his seat, the playful remark cutting through the tension in the room.

Daesung, trying not to smile too obviously, nodded, "I know, I know. I should've brought an ice bath with me."

Practice resumed after a few minutes, the familiar rhythm returning as the members fell into the flow of rehearsals. The energy in the room shifted back to work mode, but there was a subtle undercurrent of something else. Every so often, Daesung, Ji Yong, and Taeyang exchanged sly glances, their lips curling into mischievous smiles that they couldn’t quite hide. Despite Seunghyun’s apparent obliviousness, the three of them couldn’t help but feel a sense of amusement bubble up inside. They all knew their friend well enough to understand that this secret was only going to stay buried for so long. The playful teasing was hard to resist.

After practice, everyone was packing up their things, getting ready to leave. Seunghyun was across the room, his bag slung over his shoulder as he spoke on the phone, his back turned to the others.

Taeyang, clearly frustrated, quietly slapped Daesung on the shoulder. "Could you stop staring at him?" he whispered, his tone amused but also a bit exasperated.

Daesung quickly turned away, trying to act innocent, but the mischievous grin on his face gave him away. "I’m just being curious," he muttered, avoiding eye contact with Taeyang.

Meanwhile, Ji Yong, who had been subtly glancing over at Seunghyun, caught Taeyang’s disapproving glare. Ignoring him completely, Ji Yong took another quick peek at Seunghyun. This time, Taeyang wasn’t having it. He slapped Ji Yong on the shoulder with more force, making him jump.

"Hey!" Ji Yong yelped, rubbing his shoulder as he shot Taeyang an annoyed look. "What was that for?"

"Stop being so obvious," Taeyang said, shaking his head, clearly not impressed by their antics. "You’re going to get us caught."

The three of them shared a quick, knowing look. Despite their teasing, they couldn’t help but be a little excited about what was going on with Seunghyun. The quiet guy who never let anything slip was clearly hiding something, and they weren’t going to let it go that easily.

As the three were quietly bickering, their attention was suddenly snapped back to reality when Seunghyun walked out of the practice room, catching them completely off guard.

"I thought we were leaving together?" Daesung said, standing in an awkward position, his hands still half-full with his things.

"Well, maybe if we weren’t bickering over something we shouldn’t even be bothered ab—" Taeyang started saying under his breath, but he was immediately cut off by Ji Yong, who had already started following Seunghyun.

"Where are you going now?" Taeyang asked, crossing his arms with a frown, trying to act indifferent but unable to hide his curiosity.

"If you want to know, come," Ji Yong called over his shoulder, flashing a mischievous grin as he kept walking.

Daesung quickly followed Ji Yong, eager to see what Seunghyun was up to. Taeyang let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes before shrugging and slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

He couldn’t let them have all the fun, so with a resigned groan, he followed them down the hall aswell.

But just as Taeyang stepped into the hallway, he was suddenly pulled to the side by a firm grip on his arm.

"HEY—" Taeyang started, startled by the sudden pull, but Daesung quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, his other hand pointing toward Seunghyun, who was only a few steps ahead, completely unaware of the group's sudden movement.

Taeyang's eyes widened as he looked at Daesung, then back at Seunghyun. "What are you doing?" he whispered harshly, trying to pull Daesung's hand off his mouth.

 "Shh," Ji yong whispered, gesturing toward Seunghyun’s back with exaggerated caution. “Just watch him’’

Taeyang squinted, and his eyes locked onto the figure next to Seunghyun—a girl, you. Seunghyun was standing with you, talking casually, his posture relaxed and friendly. 

"Is that...?" Taeyang started, his voice barely a whisper.

Ji Yong, who was a few steps ahead, turned around, noticing the tension between the two. His mischievous grin grew. "Well, well," he said, walking back toward them, "looks like our boy's got a secret."

Taeyang shot him a glance, then reluctantly stepped forward, still not sure what to think. Seunghyun seemed so serious about keeping things private, yet here he was, talking to a girl, completely unaware of the curious eyes following him.

As Seunghyun and you continued talking, their conversation seemed to soften, the space between them closing just a little. They were clearly comfortable in each other's company, sharing a private moment in the otherwise quiet hallway.

You laughed softly at something Seunghyun said, and in that fleeting moment, he leaned in slightly, faces only inches apart. The soft hum of the building seemed to fade away, and then, without warning, Seunghyun closed the gap between you both, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

However, just as they pulled away, Seunghyun’s phone—still clutched in his hand—vibrated loudly, the notification breaking the silence. The sudden noise startled both of them, and you instinctively pulled back, your eyes widening in surprise.

In that brief second of chaos, Seunghyun’s phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground, sliding several feet away from you both.

The three of them froze, their eyes widening in shock as they stared at the phone lying just inches away from them. Their hearts pounded in sync, the weight of the situation sinking in.

"Shit."

"Shit."

"Shit."

Panic set in almost instantly.

Without thinking, the three of them scrambled to their feet, stumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to retreat. Ji Yong nearly tripped over Daesung, who yelped as Taeyang grabbed his arm, dragging him backward. Their not-so-sneaky escape was anything but graceful—shoes squeaking against the floor, hushed curses spilling from their lips.

Seunghyun blinked, still frozen, watching his friends flee like they’d seen a ghost. His phone was still in his hand, but at this point, he barely cared. He turned to you, exhaling in disbelief.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Why did they run?”

Seunghyun stared at the empty hallway where his friends had just dramatically fled, then looked back at you, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

“Because they’re idiots,” he muttered, slipping his phone into his pocket.

You raised an eyebrow, still not understanding. “I mean… they were the ones spying..Shouldn’t we be the ones running after them?”

Seunghyun sighed, rubbing his temple. “If we did that, we’d never hear the end of it. They’d turn this into a whole thing.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his frustration. “So… what now?”

He exhaled slowly, looking at you before glancing down the hall again, as if contemplating his next move. “Well, I was going to walk you out like a normal person,” he said, lips twitching slightly. “But now I have to figure out how to survive the interrogation I’m about to get.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Seunghyun sighed dramatically. “You don’t know them like I do.” Then, he looked at you, his gaze softening. “But… I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

You tilted your head again, curious. “And? Are you okay with that?”

There was a pause, then Seunghyun gave you a small, genuine smile. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I think I am.”

[timidollie]

sleeping in | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: lazy mornings with seunghyun are always the best. ・❥・word count: 1.8k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. unprotected sex, slight choking kind of, female reader, swearing ・❥・ authors note: this is not the best but listen i tried 😭

Seunghyun couldn’t remember exactly when he’d gave you the key to his penthouse — probably sooner than he should’ve but you had him in a chokehold from the second he met you. At first, it had started out as a friendship, bonding over your shared love of art and music then somewhere along the way things had changed. Stolen glances had turned into lingering touches until that one fateful night, after a BigBang concert when the adrenaline had been coursing through his veins and he’d taken the plunge, finally kissing you. From that moment on, it was hard to tear the two of you apart. Seunghyun wasn’t one for physical touch most of the time but he couldn’t help himself with you. Whether it was an arm thrown over your shoulder when you were hanging out with friends, his hand gently resting atop yours at dinner or your thighs touching as you sat beside each — he had to be connected to you in some way. It grounded him. Made him realise that you were real and you were there. To say he’d fallen fast was an understatement. It had even come as a shock to him that day he’d blurted out his feelings to you after a glass of his favourite wine as you lounged on his couch watching one of your favourite movies. His heart had never felt more full than the moment he’d heard the breathy ‘I love you too’ fall from your lips.

His job often kept him away from you for longer than he’d like. There were days where he couldn’t even see you; those were his least favourite so he had given you a key to his place, telling you to use it whenever you wanted to. It was mostly an excuse for him to come home after a stressful day and hope to see you there. It made his long days worth it. Sure, he could ask you to move in with him but he wasn’t quite ready for such a big step yet. This would have to do.

It had been a long, exhausting day at the studio putting the finishing touches to the album. All he wanted to do was go home, hopefully find you there and spend the night with the only person who could bring him peace. As he stepped into his place, the lights were off which he took to meaning you weren’t there. A heavy sigh passed his lips as he kicked off his shoes, a hand running through his hair as he made his way into the bedroom. His heart soared at the sight before him when he pushed open the door. There you were, cuddled up in bed in one of his shirts, fast asleep. His heart pounded heavily against his chest, a feeling of ease flooding through him as he looked at you. You looked so beautiful, so peaceful.

Seunghyun was usually one to wear a full set of pyjamas to bed but tonight he was too exhausted. He undressed, leaving himself in only his boxers as he climbed in bed next to you. Leaning over, he ever so gently moved a stray piece of your hair off your cheek, pressing his lips to your soft skin. “Sleep well, my heart.”

The first rays of morning light shone through the curtains casting a dim orange glow over the room. Seunghyun was the first to wake, his arms wrapped around your body from behind, nuzzling into your neck. He felt you stir, his lips leaving a lazy trail of wet kisses along your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” you mumbled, eyes still closed as you tilted your head to give him more access.

“Morning.” His deep voice sounded even sexier than normal thanks to the grogginess of waking up. “Sleep well?”

His lips were now attached to your neck, his hand slowly but surely sliding up your thigh, pushing the hem of his shirt you were wearing up to reveal more of your skin. He nipped at your skin, his tongue running across to soothe it, leaving his mark there for the world to know that you were his.

“Mhm,” you hummed. You reached your hand behind you to tangle in his hair, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. “This is a good wake up call.”

“It’s about to get better,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in your ear. You could feel his hips slightly rocking into you from behind, pulling a breathless sigh from your lips.

His fingers danced along the inside of your thigh until they found their place inside your panties. He teased at first, not quite moving his fingers down where you wanted them knowing how much his fingers alone drove you crazy. There had been one night where you’d gone into great detail about everything you wanted him to do to you with his fingers and he held it against you ever since using it to tease you. Slowly, his fingers rubbed between your slick folds, your hand that was tangled in his hair tugging a groan from his lips as you pulled at the strands gently. It only spurred him on, his hips still rocking against you as he slipped a skilled finger inside your wet heat. He pumped it in slowly at first, opening you up a little before he slid a second finger in. The long drag of his fingers against your walls were like heaven, your breathy moans a sign that he was stoking those flames within you like always.

“You look so fuckin’ hot sprawled out in my bed with just my shirt on, baby. That was a damn sight last night,” he groaned, teeth tugging at your earlobe while he sped up the movement of his fingers. “Wanna come home to that every night.”

As he spoke, your hand had slid from his hair, down his chest and to the prominent tent in his boxers. You palmed him through the fabric, Seunghyun huffing out a sharp breath as he bucked into your hand. “Yeah?” You teased, squeezing his length teasingly. It sent a thrill through you each time you realised you were the only one that could get him this hard, this worked up. “How about next time I don’t wear anything underneath?”

That was all Seunghyun could handle. His patience flew out of the window. He pulled your panties to the side, your own hands fumbled as you tried to push his boxers down from behind you. He helped, pushing them down his legs just enough to free his aching cock. Seunghyun lifted your leg up slightly so he could slide into you. The tip of his cock prodded at your entrance, pushing in only slightly then back out. He was teasing you, driving you crazy. “Beg for it,” he whispered into your ear, repeating his actions.

“Baby, please,” you whined, backing up as if that was going to help. “I need you.”

It was like music to his ears. Happy to oblige, he finally sank into your soaking entrance, pushing himself all the way in, his chest pressed right up against your back. He dragged his hips back, almost pulling all the way out before he slammed back in setting a slow, deep pace. The palm of his free hand tilted your head to the side so he could capture your lips in a heated kiss. His hand then made its journey up your shirt, taking one of your breasts in his hand. He squeezed the supple flesh, enjoying the way they moved with each thrust. His hips still relentless in the hard way he was thrusting into you, your body moving with each thrust. The room was filled with a cacophony of moans and breathless whispers.

“You feel so fucking good. So tight, so perfect,” he panted, his voice strained from pleasure. You loved it when he got like this, when he was vulnerable and losing control. You felt his hand wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding it and that only turned you on more. You pushed your hips back, meeting his thrusts each time but you needed more.

“Seunghyun, please. I need more. Fuck, baby, please go faster.” Your words were a garbled, whiny mess and who was he to ignore them?

In one fluid movement, he had pulled out of you, laying you on your back. He parted your legs and pulled your panties off fully, his eyes resting on your slick, swollen folds as he settled himself between them once again. He hooked your legs over his shoulders as he pushed into you but this time he wasted no time. His thrusts were shallow, hard and fast. The bed hitting the wall with the force of them. He grabbed your hands holding them above your head in one of his while the other held your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he pounded into you. “This what you wanted, huh, baby?”

No coherent sounds came from you, only loud, high pitched moans of his name as they filled the room joined with the sound of skin slapping against each other. He could tell you were close, could feel it in the way your walls were tightening down around him. His own release was close, too. He could feel himself lingering on the edge but he needed you to come first. “Come on, my love,” he urged, picking up the pace of his hips, his eyes glancing down to where your bodies met. He groaned heavily, throwing his head back at the erotic sight. “”Let go. I’ve got you.”

His lips crashed against yours again in a frenzy of passion. That was what sent you over the edge, your body arching into his, breasts pressing into his chest as your orgasm washed over you. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. The way you cried his name, the way your pussy squeezed the life out of him, it was too much. One more brutal thrust and he hilted himself inside you, spilling his seed into you. “Fuck, yes. I love you.”

He shuddered, his body spent as he emptied himself deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, releasing your hands that instantly rested on his back, your legs falling to your sides. Seunghyun peppered your face, neck, and collarbone with kisses. “So good for me.”

He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms but this time so you were facing him. His eyes met yours filled with nothing but love and adoration for you. It was enough to make anyone’s heart soar. He brushed the hair from your sweat slicked face, kissing the tip of your nose. ���Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you spoke quietly, tracing his jawline with your index finger. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

It wasn’t often Seunghyun got shy or embarrassed but when you complimented him? Well, all bets were off. His face flushed red as he dipped his head to hide in the crook of your neck like he hadn’t just given you the fucking of a lifetime. “Shutup.” His voice was muffled but you could still hear the amusement behind it.

You giggled. “You gonna make me?”

That made him raise his head, a beautiful smirk appearing on his face which could only mean you were in for one hell of a morning.

taglist: @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @eru-vande

[timidollie]

bf!namgyu ✩ headcanons

warnings: 18+, smut. some mentions of drinking and drugs. might be a bit ooc.

a/n: sorry if these are shorter than usual, i’ve not been in the mood to write lately :/ speaking of which, it might take me a bit longer to get to requests, but i am working on them, i promise!!

sfw ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

• despite his tough front, namgyu’s a pretty big softie, especially when it comes to you. he’ll climb into your arms at night and will fall asleep almost instantly. plus, he loves it when you play with his hair and scratch his head.

• when he’s not working at the club, he’ll usually spend his nights there and bring you with him. he’ll pull you onto his lap, offering you a sip of his drink or blowing smoke in your mouth. depending on how intoxicated he gets, he’ll make out with you without a care in the world to who is watching.

• he’s extremely possessive and gets jealous easily. when he sees you talking to another guy, he’ll immediately come up to you and wrap his arm around your waist and pull you away.

• namgyu loves it when you wear his clothes; he loves to see you lounge around the house in his t-shirt. when you go out with your friends, he’ll usually lend you his jacket or coat just so everyone knows you’re taken.

nsfw under cut ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

• namgyu is extremely touchy during sex. his hands are always roaming around your body, squeezing and pinching.

• when he’s nestled between your thighs, he definitely loves it when you pull his hair. it drives him crazy and he’ll only get messier with his movements.

• he definitely loves to overstimulate you. to hear you beg and whine and tell him you can’t take any more only makes him smirk.

• he loves getting head from you. when you get on your knees and wrap your lips around his length, that’s enough for him. he’ll thrust into your throat, loving the way you gag and how your eyes tear up. he’ll reach down to push some hair out of your face, muttering, “my pretty girl. so good for me, aren’t you?”

[timidollie]

loser bf! namgyu hcs（≧∇≦）

a/n: new writing style!! hope yall like it <3 might be spurring me on to write smth with the prompt: little things he does to show you he loves you. thank you for participating in my poll!

loser bf! namgyu who actually waited for you to confess your feelings for him first, following up with “yeah, I like you too but i didn’t know how to tell you without wanting to explode”

loser bf! namgyu who is HUGE on touching you subtly. he loves linking pinkies together and resting a hand on your thigh under the table. but the moment you initiate contact? sweet boy is a mess, suddenly tripping over his words

loser bf! namgyu who fixes his appearance in the mirror a million times before going on a date with you. when you complement how handsome he looks, he plays it off saying it’s just something he threw together. he’s lying. once he knew you two were going on a date, namgyu planned his entire outfit down to his rings.

loser bf! namgyu who shies behind you when you introduce you to your friends! you have to give his hand a silent squeeze of assurance to keep him grounded

loser bf! namgyu who tags along with you when you go shopping, following behind you like a lost dog. “are we done yet?” “namgyu, we just got here”

loser bf! namgyu who’s brain short circuits when he sees you in his hoodie for the first time! the last time he was at your apartment, he accidentally left it there and forgot to take it on the way out. you decided to try it on, the fabric enveloping your figure. namgyu’s scent immediately takes over your own, reminding you of him! you send him a selfie, and it’s game over. from that point on, he purposely leaves his jackets and hoodies over at yours, making them too easy to steal

loser bf! namgyu who rolls his eyes and cringes when you call him sweet names. “i am not your pookie bear snickerdoodle munchkin, try again”

loser bf! namgyu who’s ears turn red out of shyness when he tells you he loves you. he means it every single time!

loser bf! namgyu who lets you do his makeup when you’re bored! will attack you if you take a photo without his permission though

loser bf! namgyu who feels at ease when you’ve got your arm looped through his. definitely helps his ego and confidence

loser bf! namgyu who gets defensive when you tease him too much “you remembered that I wanted this? you looooove me” “i’ll take it back if you don’t want it.”

thanks for tuning in! feedback is read and appreciated!

Tag List:

@namgyucat @dgaftilwedie @cybrasigilism @nuttybeans @miss-conjayniality @rohjaewonlvr @ffsjustletmesleep @allmyocsarebritish

[timidollie]

⊹Unspoken but Undeniable⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader (ft. Dong Young-bae?) ⊹ Warnings: jealousy, strong emotions, possessiveness, mild angst, passionate tension, emotional vulnerability ⊹ Summary: when the release of a music video sparks an unexpected wave of fan speculation and shipping between you and Young-bae, Seung-Hyun's jealousy surfaces in ways neither of you anticipated. As tensions rise, you remind him that no matter what the world sees, he is the only one who truly knows you—and the only one you belong to ⊹ Authors note: oh my god.. it's like a roller coaster ⊹ requested by anonymous

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

You remember the first time Seung-Hyun looked at you—not just saw you in passing, not just glanced in your direction—but really looked. It was early in the production of Tazza: The Hidden Card, and you were nothing more than a small, supporting role—a trainee with wide eyes and an eager heart, standing at the periphery of a world that still felt untouchable. But for some reason, his gaze lingered that day, just a second too long, before he turned away as if nothing had happened.

He was polite, professional. Reserved in the way only a man who knew the weight of attention could be. You convinced yourself you had imagined it.

It wasn’t until midway through the shoot that you finally spoke to him beyond the usual pleasantries. A casual lunch break, a conversation sparked by something as trivial as sneakers.

“They should be simple,” you said, picking up your chopsticks with fervor, your expression fiercely determined. “Plain colors. Neutral tones. Function over flashy aesthetics.”

Seung-Hyun, holding his water bottle mid-air, raised a brow. “You think sneakers should be boring?”

“Not boring,” you countered, leaning in as if this were the most important argument of your life. “Classic. Sneakers are meant to be comfortable, not a statement piece.”

He chuckled, a low, quiet sound that curled around your spine. “And yet, fashion houses make billions off statement sneakers.”

You scoffed. “That’s just because people like spending money on useless things.”

His amusement deepened, something warm settling in his eyes as he watched you go on, gesturing wildly, defending your stance as if the world depended on it. You were so absorbed in your point that you didn’t notice the way his smile softened, the way he seemed to lean in just slightly, as if drawn by an invisible thread.

After that, he started seeking you out more. It was subtle at first. A brief touch at your waist as he passed by, light as air yet impossibly grounding. Small notes left for you to find—a slip of paper in your script, a folded square tucked into the pocket of your jacket.

The first note appeared in your trailer, hidden beneath the pages of your script. You had been flipping through the lines when a small, folded square of paper fluttered to the ground. That shade of blue suits you. You stared at it, heartbeat quickening, scanning the empty space around you as if he might be watching.

The next one appeared in your coat pocket, placed there without you noticing. You had reached in for your phone only to pull out another note, slightly crumpled but no less deliberate. You have a good laugh. I’d like to hear it more often. You looked around set, your gaze flickering over the crew, the actors, but he was nowhere in sight.

One day, your phone had been left on a table unattended for barely a minute. When you returned, there was another note placed neatly atop it. You don’t need flashy colors—you stand out just fine on your own. You turned your head instinctively, catching a glimpse of Seung-Hyun in the distance, speaking with a stylist. His expression gave away nothing, but you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lips twitch.

You kept every single one, though you never quite knew what to do with them. They sat hidden in the pages of your notebook, pressed between schedules and script notes, holding a quiet kind of weight. And with every passing day, every fleeting glance, every near-touch, your confusion twisted into something warmer, something dangerously close to longing.

Then came your last day on set. The final scene. The last time you’d stand beneath those bright lights, surrounded by cameras, knowing that when the day ended, so would this strange, undefined thing between you.

You tried to hide it—this ache, this sadness—but you weren’t a good enough actress yet. Your usual vibrance dulled, laughter restrained. Even the staff noticed. Seung-Hyun noticed most of all.

So when he offered you a ride home, you didn’t refuse.

The silence in the car was thick, uneasy. He drove without a word, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. You sat curled in the passenger seat, staring out the window, trying to suppress the lump in your throat.

It wasn’t until he pulled into the parking lot near your building that he finally turned to you.

“Are you going to pretend you don’t feel it?” he asked, voice impossibly soft.

Your breath hitched. “Feel what?”

His hand reached for yours, fingers brushing against your wrist before tilting your chin toward him. And then, before you could think, before you could talk yourself out of it, he kissed you. Slow, deliberate. Like he was memorizing the shape of you, like he had been waiting far too long.

When he pulled back, he slipped something into the pocket of your coat.

“Call me,” he murmured before stepping away, leaving you breathless.

The note burned against your skin all night, his number scribbled hastily in ink. You stared at it for hours, fingers trembling over the screen of your phone, overwhelmed and unsure.

It took a glass of wine and the lingering taste of his lips on yours before you finally gathered the courage to type out a message.

You waited two months for that kiss?

His reply was immediate.

I wanted to make sure you’d remember it.

Your lips curled into a smile, warmth blooming in your chest.

What started as one text turned into a dozen. Then a hundred. Inside jokes. Pictures from set. Snippets of their lives outside of the cameras. Flirting that danced between playful and dangerously close to confession.

Seung-Hyun would check his phone between takes, a small smirk ghosting his lips as he read your messages. In the recording studio, he would lean back on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to be focused on lyrics while actually waiting for your reply. His friends caught on quickly.

“You’re smiling at your phone again,” Ji-Yong teased, nudging Seung-Hyun’s arm as they lounged in the studio. “Who is she?”

“No one,” Seung-Hyun muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket.

Young-Bae grinned. “No one makes you look that stupidly happy.”

Dae-Sung leaned forward. “Tell us. Is she famous? Someone we know?”

Seung-Hyun exhaled, shaking his head, but the slight pink tinge at his ears betrayed him. “Just someone I met on set.”

Meanwhile, you sat in a quiet living room, your phone balanced on your knee. The sitcom playing on your TV barely held your attention as you typed out a reply.

If you smile at your phone one more time, your friends will figure me out.

His response came almost instantly.

Too late. They’re already interrogating me. Should I tell them you hate statement sneakers?

You laughed, shaking your head as you curled up on your couch, heart thumping a little too fast.

And in between the words, between the spaces left unsaid, something undeniable grew. Something neither of you could ignore.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to anymore.

The first time Seung-Hyun showed up at your door for a movie night, he was late—not terribly, but enough that you had begun to wonder if he would cancel. But then came the quiet knock, three precise taps, and when you pulled the door open, he stood there, slightly breathless, his hair tousled as if he had run a hand through it too many times. He wore a black hoodie pulled low over his face, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

"Traffic," he murmured, stepping inside before you could say anything else. "And a few… detours."

You knew what that meant. Dodging paparazzi, careful rerouting, slipping through unmarked exits. It made your chest tighten, not because you minded but because you hated how much he had to hide just to do something as simple as see you.

"You're here now," you said, offering a small smile. "And I made popcorn."

His lips quirked up as he toed off his shoes, following you into the living room. The movie was already queued up, something you had chosen halfheartedly, more for the background noise than anything else. He sank onto the couch beside you, stretching his long legs out, his arm draped lazily over the backrest.

"You know we're not going to watch this, right?" he murmured, voice low, teasing.

You turned to him, feigning innocence. "Oh? And what are we going to do instead?"

His fingers traced the side of your neck, barely there, a whisper of touch. "Talk about sneakers," he said with a smirk.

You laughed, but the sound melted into a breathless sigh as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer. His lips found yours without hesitation, the taste of mint and something distinctly him lingering on your tongue. The movie flickered on the screen, but neither of you paid it any mind. His fingers tangled in your hair, the weight of his body pressing into yours, the steady, slow unraveling of restraint as the night stretched on.

Dinners were always in quiet places—dimly lit restaurants tucked into alleyways, small cafés where the only people who might recognize him were too respectful to say anything. It wasn’t about secrecy so much as it was about having something just for yourselves.

Seung-Hyun sat across from you, idly spinning his chopsticks between his fingers. "They almost caught me today."

You blinked. "Who?"

"The press." He exhaled, shaking his head. "I left the company building, and they were waiting. Had to double back and take the underground parking lot."

Your stomach twisted at the thought. "Is it always like that?"

He tilted his head, considering. "Not always. Just when they think there’s something to find."

Something like you.

Your heart clenched at the reality of it. His image—carefully curated, meticulously managed—hinged on his being single. His fans adored him, but not in a way that left room for a serious relationship. If they found out about you, it wouldn’t just be scrutiny—it would be backlash. They would tear you apart. The thought of it made your breath hitch. You had seen what happened to women linked to idols before. Rumors spread like wildfire, labels like "attention-seeker" and "gold digger" stamped on their names before they had a chance to defend themselves. It didn’t matter who you were or what you had accomplished; to them, you would be nothing more than a leech trying to benefit from his fame.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Is it worth the trouble?"

Seung-Hyun reached across the table, catching your fingers in his. His thumb traced slow circles against your palm, grounding, steady. "Yes," he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

But was it worth it for you? The weight of secrecy, the knowledge that every moment together had to be stolen, hidden? The realization settled over you like a shadow—you could dream of a future with him, but for as long as he stood on that stage, bathed in the relentless gaze of millions, you would have to be a secret. As long as it took.

The first time he sneaked you into his dressing room before a concert, your heart was hammering so loudly you were sure someone would hear it. The corridors backstage were a maze of hurried footsteps and clipped voices, staff members rushing around with last-minute preparations. But Seung-Hyun knew exactly where to go, his grip on your wrist firm yet careful as he pulled you into the small, dimly lit space.

The door clicked shut, muffling the outside chaos. He turned to you, a boyish grin playing at his lips. “Made it."

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “This is insane.”

He laughed softly, stepping closer. “A little.”

You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric. “You should be focusing on your concert, not smuggling me in here.”

His fingers tilted your chin up, his gaze dark and unreadable. “You think I’m not focused?”

The words barely had time to settle before he kissed you, slow at first, like he was savoring it, then deeper, more urgent. His hands slid down your back, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly, the concert felt like a distant thing, the outside world nothing more than background noise.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven, he smirked. “Good luck kiss?”

You rolled your eyes, still breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, his thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “I’ll see you after the show.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you dazed and wanting, the lingering taste of him on your lips.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The apartment is warm, filled with the soft clinking of chopsticks against ceramic bowls and the quiet hum of the city outside. The scent of stir-fried vegetables and grilled meat still lingers in the air, mingling with the faint traces of Seung-Hyun’s cologne. Across the table, he watches you with a lopsided smile, his eyes glinting with amusement as he chews thoughtfully.

“So,” he says, swallowing. “If we were living together, would you be the type to wake me up with breakfast in bed, or would you just steal all the blankets and leave me to freeze?”

You laugh, setting down your chopsticks. “Why not both? I’ll steal the blankets, then wake you up with food so you don’t hold a grudge.”

He smirks. “Smart. Manipulative, but smart.”

You shrug playfully. “Survival skills.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Okay, but real talk—where would we live? If we weren’t... you know, hiding.”

The question settles between you, heavier than you expected. But you welcome it, chasing the weight away with a small smile. “Somewhere quiet, but not too quiet. A place with big windows, so we can watch the rain. Maybe a small garden, where we can kill plants together.”

Seung-Hyun chuckles. “We’d make a tragic team. You with your overwatering, me forgetting they exist.”

You grin. “Perfect balance.”

He takes a sip of his drink, tilting his head as he considers. “I think we’d be those annoying neighbors that laugh too loudly at night.”

“Absolutely. And we’d make up dramatic stories about the people living next door.”

“Like the old man downstairs who’s actually a retired spy?”

You snap your fingers. “Or the lady across the hall, who only ever wears red. She’s definitely hiding something.”

“Probably a secret underground poker ring.”

You giggle, and he leans in, catching your laughter with a kiss. It’s soft, lingering, his hand brushing against your cheek before pulling away just enough to whisper, “You know we’d be good at this, right?”

Your heart tightens. “At what?”

“This. Us. Being real. Not just behind closed doors.”

The lightness of the moment fades, replaced by something heavier. You stare down at your plate, appetite suddenly gone. The weight of it all crashes over you, pressing into your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

“How long?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “How long do we have to keep doing this?”

Seung-Hyun exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

You stare at him, frustration and longing twisting together inside you. “You don’t know?”

He meets your gaze, something conflicted flickering behind his eyes. “If I could, I’d tell the whole world. But you know what would happen.”

“I don’t care,” you snap, standing abruptly. “I don’t care about them, or their opinions. I just—I just want to love you without hiding.”

He stands too, stepping toward you, hands reaching but not quite touching. “And I want to protect you.”

Your chest tightens. “From what? From your fans? From the media?”

“Yes,” he says, voice firm. “From everything that would hurt you.”

You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes. “But it already hurts, Seung-Hyun. Keeping this a secret… it’s suffocating.”

His fingers finally find yours, squeezing tightly. “I know,” he murmurs. “But if we’re patient, if we wait, maybe one day we won’t have to hide anymore.”

You search his face, looking for reassurance, for something to hold onto. And though it isn’t perfect, though it isn’t enough, you nod. Because for now, it’s all you have.

The next time you visited him, the news had come over dinner, a quiet evening tucked away in the solitude of Seung-Hyun’s apartment. You had been bouncing in your seat, eyes sparkling with excitement, barely able to contain yourself.

“I got the part,” you had said breathlessly, watching him over the rim of your glass. “Big Bang’s new music video.”

Seung-Hyun had grinned, the kind of rare, unguarded smile he only ever gave to you. Pride swelled in his chest, warm and golden, as he reached across the table to squeeze your hand.

“I knew you would,” he had murmured, his thumb tracing over your knuckles. “They’d be stupid not to cast you.”

But then, with a bite of his lip and a tilt of his head, he asked the question that had been lingering at the back of his mind. “So… who’s your partner in the video?”

You hesitated just a second too long.

The moment the words left your lips, he felt something twist inside him.

“Young-bae.”

His fingers stilled against your hand, but his expression remained unchanged. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly before he forced another smile, but you knew better. He was still happy for you—he would always be—but something in his posture shifted. It was subtle, the way his shoulders tensed just a little, the way his fingers withdrew from yours with careful slowness, as if willing himself not to react.

Young-bae. One of his closest friends.

He swallowed down the sting of disappointment, nodding like it didn’t matter. Because it didn’t. It shouldn’t. You were an actress, this was your job, and it wasn’t like you had a choice in the matter. But still, the thought of you wrapped up in stolen, intimate moments with his friend made something dark and unwelcome coil in his gut.

“Ah,” was all he said, leaning back into his chair. “Well. That’ll be… interesting.”

You had given him a wary look, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “It’s just work, Seung-Hyun.”

He had forced a chuckle, reaching for his drink. “Of course. I know.”

But now, standing at the edge of the set, watching you through the falling rain as Young-bae touched you—brushed your hair back, whispered into your ear, smiled at you like you were the only person in the world—Seung-Hyun felt anything but understanding.

The set was alive with movement, the crew bustling to adjust the lighting, the rain machines pouring down in artificial sheets to create the perfect melancholic atmosphere. You were standing under the downpour, your thin sweater clinging to your frame, strands of wet hair plastered to your cheeks. Young-bae was close, too close, shielding you slightly from the rain with his hand as he laughed at something you said.

Seung-Hyun’s jaw clenched.

The camera rolled.

You and Young-bae moved through the scene, playing in the rain like lovers lost in a fleeting moment. He twirled you, water splashing up around your feet, the sound of your laughter carrying over the hum of the set. Then came the moment that made Seung-Hyun’s stomach turn—the almost-kiss.

Young-bae leaned in, his face hovering just inches from yours, his fingers ghosting over your wrist. You looked at him with soft eyes, your expression unreadable. It was acting, just a scene, but it felt real in a way Seung-Hyun hated. He could do nothing but stand there, hidden behind the monitors, his hands curling into fists at his sides as jealousy coiled thick and poisonous inside his chest.

“Cut!” the director called, and you stepped away instantly, breaking the moment.

Young-bae turned to you with a grin, his eyes crinkling. “Not bad, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you wiped water from your face. “Not bad at all.”

Seung-Hyun’s stomach twisted.

Young-bae grabbed a towel from a nearby crew member and, before you could reach for it, he was already draping it over your shoulders. “You’re shivering,” he murmured, his voice laced with concern. His hands moved to rub at your arms, trying to warm you up.

“You’re so cold,” he added, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Maybe I should just hold you for warmth.”

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to step back slightly, but Young-bae only grinned. “Kidding. Sort of.”

Before the next take, Young-bae gestured to his chair. “Here, sit down for a bit. No need to stand in the cold.”

You hesitated before sitting, slightly uncomfortable, your glance flickering toward Seung-Hyun. He was watching, his gaze dark and unreadable, though the way his eyes burned into Young-bae made it clear—he was barely restraining himself from reacting.

Ji-yong wandered over, stretching as he glanced at you both. “You guys having fun yet?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s not bad, but shooting in the rain is exhausting.”

Young-bae nodded. “Yeah, but love scenes are always weird to shoot. I swear, sometimes I hate the storyline. It’s like… do we really need all this?”

Ji-yong smirked. “Tell me about it. Some scripts are so cheesy, I can’t take myself seriously.”

You tilted your head, thoughtful. “I think the hardest part would be shooting a love scene when someone you love is on set.”

Young-bae whistled, shaking his head. “That’s gotta be brutal. Good thing none of us have to deal with that, huh?”

Your lips pressed together in a tight smile as your eyes flickered once more toward Seung-Hyun. He still hadn’t moved, his hands clenched at his sides, his gaze never straying from you and Young-bae.

And in that moment, despite the jealousy, despite the restraint it took to stay silent, Seung-Hyun knew:

You were his.

Even here, under the artificial rain, under the weight of secrecy, you were his.

Unable to stand idle any longer, he strode toward you, his movements controlled but charged with a quiet intensity. He passed by Ji-yong and Young-bae without a word, stopping just in front of you.

“Let’s talk,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. His hand, strong and steady, reached for yours, pulling you up from the chair. You barely had time to react before he was guiding you away from the set, his grip firm yet gentle.

Young-bae blinked, glancing at Ji-yong. “Did I just… get in trouble?”

Ji-yong smirked, leaning back with amusement. “Looks like it.”

Once away from the others, he turned to you, his jaw tight. "Are you okay?" His voice was softer now, concern mixing with jealousy.

You swallowed, nodding. "Seung-Hyun, it's just acting."

He exhaled, rubbing a hand through his damp hair. "I know. But watching him touch you like that… it was harder than I thought."

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. "You're the only one I want. You know that, right?"

His fingers tightened around yours. "I do. But that doesn't mean I have to like this."

You sighed, stepping closer. "Then don't watch the next take."

His lips twitched, finally giving in to a smirk. "Easier said than done."

And with that, the weight between you lifted just a little, but you had to get back on set.

The director’s voice boomed across the set. “Alright, let’s wrap this up! One last scene, and then dinner’s on me!”

Young-bae gave you a small smirk. “Guess we better make this good.”

You sighed, rolling your shoulders as you stepped back under the rain. This time, though, Young-bae was different—more cautious. When he had to tease you, when he had to lean in and whisper in your ear, he muttered instead, “Sorry, I didn’t know” under his breath, a subtle acknowledgment that he knew exactly who was watching.

Once the final shot was complete, the crew packed up, and you were ushered toward a restaurant, where everyone gathered for a well-earned meal. You were placed at the end of the long table next to Ji-yong, who wasted no time in leaning toward you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You know Seung-Hyun used to be terrified of dogs?” he asked with a smirk.

You gasped. “No way.”

“Oh yeah,” Ji-yong continued. “Once, a tiny chihuahua chased him for two blocks. He screamed like a child in a horror movie. I swear, we thought he was being attacked by a wild animal.”

You burst into laughter, Seung-Hyun groaning from across the table. “That dog was insane.”

Ji-yong grinned. “And don’t forget the haunted house incident.”

Your eyes lit up. “What happened?”

Ji-yong smirked. “So, we were at this really old, abandoned mansion for a show, right? Everyone’s hyping it up, calling it the scariest place in Seoul. The moment we step inside, it’s pitch black, creaky floors, creepy whispers from the wind—classic horror movie stuff. But Seung-Hyun? He freezes in place. And when the first jump scare happens? He grabs my arm so tight I thought he was going to dislocate my shoulder.”

You doubled over in laughter as Seung-Hyun covered his face. “I hate you both.”

Ji-yong nudged you. “Welcome to the club.”

You wiped at your eyes, still giggling, glancing toward Seung-Hyun. Despite his exaggerated groaning, you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes softer now as he watched you laugh.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The apartment was quiet, the muffled hum of the city outside a distant echo against the walls. The scent of lingering food from dinner clung to the air, mixing with the faint trace of Seung-Hyun’s cologne. You had just come back from the gathering with the rest of the cast and crew, laughter still ringing in your ears, but the warmth of the evening had dulled into something heavier now that it was just the two of you.

Seung-Hyun stood near the window, his silhouette cast in the dim glow of the streetlights. He had been quiet since the ride home, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. You watched him from your spot on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of tea, waiting for him to speak.

“You were good today,” he finally said, his voice low.

You huffed a soft laugh, setting your mug down. “You’ve said that already.”

He turned slightly, meeting your gaze. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

You studied him for a moment, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched like he was holding something back. “You didn’t seem like you enjoyed watching it.”

A slow exhale left him as he rubbed at his face. “It’s not easy.”

You set your mug aside and leaned forward. “Seung-Hyun… it’s just acting.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I know that.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?”

He finally moved, stepping toward you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. “I’m not mad at you.” He hesitated, then, his voice quieter, “I just don’t like seeing someone else look at you like that.”

Your breath caught, fingers curling against your knee.

“Seung-Hyun—”

“You’re mine,” he interrupted, the words barely above a whisper, but they felt heavier than anything he had said all night. “Even if no one else knows it, even if I have to watch you pretend to love someone else on set, you’re mine.”

The confession settled deep in your chest, warm and aching all at once. You swallowed, barely able to hold his gaze. “You don’t have to watch, you know.”

He let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t help it.”

You stood, bridging the space between you, hands resting lightly on his arms. He tensed beneath your touch, like he was barely keeping himself together.

“I hate hiding this,” you admitted. “I hate pretending, too.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up. “Then don’t pretend right now.”

The words were barely out before his lips met yours—slow, deep, carrying every ounce of restraint he’d been holding onto all night. The tension melted between you, replaced by something stronger, something truer.

His hands slid down your back, fingers pressing into the curve of your waist as he pulled you flush against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, igniting something low and smoldering beneath your skin. His lips moved with a slow, deliberate intent, tasting, claiming, as if he wanted to leave no doubt that you belonged to him.

A quiet sigh slipped from you, lost in the heat of his kiss. His fingers traced the line of your spine, making you shiver under his touch. He deepened the kiss, his breath mixing with yours, the need in him raw and unguarded. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips, anchoring you to him.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him, more of this. “I’m yours,” you breathed.

A satisfied growl rumbled in his chest as he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring each moment, each gasp, each small tremor that ran through your body at his touch. His lips trailed down your jaw, over the sensitive skin of your neck, where he lingered, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses that sent heat pooling deep in your stomach.

You tilted your head, giving him more, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as he traced his fingers beneath the hem, teasing your skin. His touch was firm yet reverent, his hands mapping out the curve of your body like he was memorizing you, learning every reaction, every sound you made just for him.

He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you back toward the couch, laying you down with careful precision as he hovered over you. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, filled with something deeper than lust—something unspoken, but undeniable.

“I need you,” he confessed, his voice rough, almost desperate.

Your hands framed his face, thumbs tracing along his cheekbones. “Then take me.”

His control frayed at your words, his mouth crashing into yours once more, heat surging between you as he pressed you into the cushions. His fingers trailed under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up inch by inch, his lips following the path of his hands, tasting, teasing, worshipping.

The night stretched long and slow, the city outside forgotten as he claimed you in the only way he could—with reverence, with passion, with the quiet understanding that no matter what, you would always be his.

And in that moment, there was no need for secrecy. No need for pretending.

Only this. Only you and him, together in the quiet of your apartment, where love wasn’t hidden but fully, completely real.

Later, as you lay curled in his arms, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin, he pressed a kiss against your temple. “I’ve been thinking…” he murmured, voice heavy with lingering emotion. “Maybe it’s time to tell the world.”

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Tell them what?”

“That I have someone,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “That I love someone. I won’t say who, not yet, but… I don’t want to keep pretending I have nothing when I have you.”

Your heart swelled, warmth flooding through you. “You really want to do that?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’ve changed me—for the better. I want them to know that.”

A few days later, during a fan meeting, he sat before the audience, a microphone in hand, his expression soft yet sure. When asked about love, about whether he had someone special, he gave a small smile and said, “I met someone really important to me. Someone who’s changed me in ways I never expected.”

Fans erupted in speculation, theories running wild. Some were excited, supportive—but not all. Soon, online forums filled with whispers, some even expressing resentment.

“What if she breaks his heart?”

“She better be worth it.”

Scrolling through the comments later, you sighed. Seung-Hyun’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his lips ghosting over your shoulder. “Let them talk,” he murmured. “Only we know what’s real.”

And as he held you close, you knew he was right.

After a few weeks, the studio buzzed with energy, the members of Big Bang sprawled across the couch, their voices mixing with the hum of music playing in the background. Ji-yong scrolled through his phone, chuckling at something before nudging Young-bae. "Have you seen the comments on the new music video?"

Young-bae groaned. "Oh no. What now?"

Ji-yong smirked, holding up his phone for everyone to see. "Apparently, you and her are the new 'it' couple. Fans are obsessed. Look at this: ‘Their chemistry is insane!’ ‘They should date for real!’ ‘Young-bae treats her better than any boyfriend ever could.’"

Seung-Hyun, who had been quiet until now, stiffened. His grip on the water bottle in his hand tightened. "What?"

Daesung raised a brow. "You didn’t see it? The whole internet is talking about it. Edits, comments, even fan accounts dedicated to them."

Seung-Hyun snatched Ji-yong’s phone and scrolled through the flood of comments. Every single one felt like a slap to the face.

‘Look at the way Young-bae looks at her—so soft.’

‘They need to date, no question.’

‘I bet her real boyfriend is jealous as hell right now. Oops.’

His jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Young-bae sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know this is just fans being fans, right? It doesn’t mean anything."

Seung-Hyun let out a bitter laugh, tossing the phone onto the table. "Doesn’t mean anything? They think she should be with you. They think you’d be a better match."

Ji-yong exchanged a wary glance with the others before leaning forward. "Hyung, you need to chill. We all know how fans get. They ship everything that moves. Next week, they’ll be onto something else."

But Seung-Hyun wasn’t hearing any of it. His blood boiled as the images of you and Young-bae flashed in his mind—laughing together, sharing stolen glances on screen, looking like you belonged to each other. The world had no idea that you were already his. And now, it felt like it was being rewritten before his eyes.

"I don’t need to chill," he snapped, pushing off the couch. "I need to go."

Young-bae called after him. "Seung-Hyun—"

But he was already storming out of the studio, his vision tinted red, his heart pounding with jealousy-fueled adrenaline.

The kitchen was filled with the soft hum of a playlist you had thrown on absentmindedly, the aroma of simmering spices wafting through the apartment. You had been spending more time at Seung-Hyun’s place than your own lately, and tonight, you wanted to surprise him with dinner. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables on the cutting board was soothing, a welcome distraction from the exhaustion that had crept in from the past few weeks of work.

Just as you were about to check on the pot, the sound of the front door unlocking made you pause. A smile tugged at your lips, but it faded the moment Seung-Hyun stepped inside. He didn’t greet you. Didn’t look at you. Instead, he kicked off his shoes with force, his movements sharp, shoulders tense. His jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line.

Something was wrong.

You wiped your hands on a towel, stepping closer. "Hey, you’re home early."

Still nothing. He strode past you, straight to the kitchen counter, reaching for the bottle of wine. The way he poured himself a generous glass, the tight grip he had on the stem, made your stomach twist.

"Seung-Hyun?" you tried again, softer this time.

He exhaled sharply through his nose but still refused to meet your eyes. He took a long sip of his drink, then leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face.

Then your phone vibrated on the table. You glanced at the screen.

Young-bae: I’m so sorry. You should talk to him.

Your stomach dropped.

"It’s the music video, isn’t it?" you asked cautiously. You hadn’t had the chance to watch it yet, but you could put the pieces together quickly enough.

His knuckles tightened around the glass. "You haven’t seen it?"

You shook your head. "No, not yet."

A bitter laugh escaped him. "Well, the fans have. And apparently, you and Young-bae are everyone’s new favorite couple."

Your lips parted slightly. "Seung-Hyun, you know it was just acting—"

"Do I?" He set his glass down with a little too much force. "Because they seem to think it’s real. The comments, the edits, the way they’re analyzing every damn second of that video. ‘Look how well they fit together. Their chemistry is unreal.’ And my personal favorite? ‘They should date for real.’"

You swallowed hard, watching the way his chest rose and fell, the way his frustration simmered just beneath the surface. He wasn’t just angry. He was hurt.

"You told me you were okay with this," you whispered.

"I thought I was." His voice was lower now, raw. "But seeing it all over the internet, watching people ship you with one of my closest friends like I don’t even exist? It’s different when it’s in my face."

Silence stretched between you. The tension in the air thick, suffocating.

You took a tentative step closer, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away, running a frustrated hand through his hair. His back was to you now, his muscles tight with restraint.

"I don’t blame you," he finally admitted. "I know it’s your job. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking kill me to see it."

You let his words sink in, the weight of them heavy. "Then talk to me," you pleaded. "Don’t shut me out like this."

His shoulders tensed, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he turned, his expression softer now, though his eyes were still clouded with jealousy.

"I just… I need to know that at the end of the day, I’m the one you come home to. That I’m the one who gets the real thing."

You stepped into his space, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "You are. Always."

His hands finally found your waist, gripping you like he needed to ground himself. His forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. "I don’t want to feel like I have to compete for you."

You cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. "There’s no competition, Seung-Hyun. It’s only you. Only you know how to make me laugh until I cry. Only you know that I hate when people touch my food, that I can’t stand when sneakers are left untied. Only you know how to touch me in a way that makes me completely yours."

His breathing turned shallow, his grip on you tightening as your words settled deep inside him. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "It should only be me. Only I should know you like this. Only I should be the one to make you say my name the way you do."

You smiled softly, pulling him down into a slow, searing kiss. "And you are."

The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by something fiercer—possession, devotion, love. And in that moment, there was no more jealousy. Only the certainty that, no matter what the world thought, you belonged to each other.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad

[timidollie]

FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

summary: after late-night sexting with your best friend, everything changes. the bond you thought was purely platonic starts to feel deeper. were these feelings always there, hidden beneath the surface? or did something just… click? is this the start of something real, or the beginning of a mistake that could ruin everything?

warnings: aged up female reader (they’re both in their late twenties) (MDNI), smut (masturbation, fingering, public sex, p in v, oral sex (f and m), sexting, edging, praising, unprotected sex (don’t be silly)) semi and minsu are victims of the reader’s and subong’s freakiness, angst (name calling, miscommunication, pushing, throwing things, lying, deception, fear of commitment, reader refuses to help him at some point, slapping, slutshame remarks), overuse of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ (lmaoo), subong should be a warning himself, fwb dynamic, reader uses someone to forget subong, drug use and addiction.

a/n: i’ve never ever written anything here on tumblr before, so i don’t really know what i’m doing, help. also, english isn’t my first language, so mistakes should be present!! lowercase is intentional. this is an au with no games. text messages are in different colors (orange for the reader, purple for subong). the reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic)

songs that inspired me to write this: friends — chase atlantic || back to friends — sombr || heartbeat — childish gambino || casual — chappell roan

this fic was also inspired by @jedisupernova ‘s writing, check out her page and fics!!! (they’re soooo good)

you’re still thinking about what that guy said. it wasn’t even a big deal, not really. just some random jerk at the club who’d had a few too many drinks and decided to share his unfiltered thoughts about your body. “you’re not really my type,” he’d said, like you’d asked. then he’d laughed and added, “not many guys would go for that.”

it shouldn’t bother you. you know it shouldn’t. but now, a few nights later, it’s stuck in your head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. so, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly, you do what you always do when something’s bugging you—you text him. your best friend.

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

i got a random question. but like, it’s not that deep

???

do you think i’m attractive?

you fire it off without overthinking, like it’s no big deal. it’s not weird to ask your best friend something like this. right?

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

omfg can you just say yes or no? please? but be honest, i promise i won’t get mad

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

okay you think i’m attractive but like… what kind of attractive? cute attractive? like awwww. or i’d-fuck-you-raw attractive?

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

you stare at the screen, mentally deciding whether you should tell him about what happened or not. you hadn’t told him before, not wanting to give it more attention. but this time, you decide to.

ugh, remember i went clubbing the other day? well this dude was being an asshole to me and he said some stuff and i can’t stop thinking about it so just be fucking honest and answer my question

some stuff? what stuff?

he said, and i quote ‘not many guys would go for that’. ‘that’ is me, btw💀

who tf is this dude?

bruh idk, some random guy, it doesn’t matter

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

good, good, you think to yourself. his reply makes you relax a little, the knot in your stomach loosening. he thinks you’re attractive. of course he does—he’s your best friend, and best friends are supposed to hype you up.

for a moment, you stare at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip. you know you should leave it there, let it go. but something keeps tugging at you.

so, hypothetically, would you… yk, with me?

the second you hit send, panic sets in. your pulse skyrockets, and you almost want to throw your phone across the room. why did you do that? why couldn’t you just shut up? but you don’t have time to spiral, because the dots appear almost immediately.

are u serious?

and you freeze. your fingers hover over the screen, but you can’t bring yourself to type anything back. what kind of answer is that?

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

your heart stops. you blink at the message, reading it again and again, like the words might change if you look long enough. you weren’t prepared for this.

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

you want to lie, to brush it off, but your fingers move before your brain can stop them.

maybe

the dots pop up again. then disappear. then pop up again.

maybe?? that means yes. cmon i’m hot as hell, baby, u know it. u’ve probably touched yourself thinking about me at least once

wtf bro you’re giving me the biggest ick rn 💀

but have u?

and you? i bet you jerk off to my insta photos, perv. don’t even start lmaoo

can’t help it when u look that good💯

you stare at his message, your mind scrambling to process it. you feel your breath catch in your throat. the shock should be overwhelming, but instead, you feel a strange warmth spread through you.

you didn’t expect this. the idea that he’s been thinking about you like that… it sends a shiver down your spine. you should probably tell him to stop, tell him it’s too much, but instead, you feel yourself leaning in, pulled toward this conversation in a way you didn’t think you would be.

i may or may not have done the same with your insta pics

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

no fucking way, just two????????

you think it’s not enough or what???? how many times have you done it?

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

so bad i’ve lost count. u really want me to get into details?

maybe i do

bro, let’s just say that everytime u post i’m over here fighting a battle

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

so aren’t there any girls to jerk off to instead of me???

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

you stare at the screen, your heart pounding, your legs squeezing together instinctively. what the hell is happening right now? and then another message comes through.

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

yeah bro, what's a guy supposed to do when his best friend asks if he would fuck her?

it was hypothetical

hypothetically speaking, if a guy was attracted to his best friend, he'd probably be rock fucking hard right now. so yeah, i'm fucking hard, girl

your stomach flips at the bluntness of his words. you can feel the blood rushing to your face as you stare at the message.

too much info, subong

nahhh, u asked. u wanted details, so here they are

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

help you out?????????????

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

no one asked for that, stupid. just a pic of u

just a pic of you. the request feels so simple. he’s your bestfriend—it’s not that big of a deal, right? especially after everything you’ve both just confessed to each other.

your eyes flick toward the mirror in your room. you’re in your pajamas. no bra. you know how it looks. it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t think twice about wearing around him in person, but now, with this conversation, it feels different. your legs carry you to the mirror almost on autopilot. you pick up your phone and angle it toward your reflection. you shouldn’t even be entertaining this. but instead, you snap the picture. you stare at it for a moment, biting your lip. it’s not explicit—it’s just you. but still… you know exactly how he’ll see it.

your thumb hovers over the send button, hesitation gripping you. a hundred reasons not to do this race through your head, but one single thought drowns them all out: you want to know how he’ll react. before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send. the moment it delivers, your stomach drops, a mix of adrenaline and regret washing over you. you sit down on the edge of your bed, staring at the screen, waiting for his response, your heart pounding louder with every passing second.

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

and i’m hornier now, if that’s even possible

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

well, glad i could help your horny ass🫡 enjoy or whatever

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

you watch the dots—flickering like they're mocking you. you can't help but wonder what he's typing—or if he's second-guessing whatever bold thing he's about to say. but then, they disappear. nothing. you frown, staring at the screen, waiting a few more seconds. still nothing. you realize exactly what he's probably doing. you bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as the image forms in your mind: him, sitting there, hand wrapped around his dick, staring at the picture you sent.

you feel like you need to do something—anything—to distract yourself. you toss your phone onto the bed and reach for the remote, flipping on a random tv show. you let the noise fill the silence, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. it's a few minutes later when your phone dings. the sound cuts through the room like a knife, and you hesitate for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally reaching for it.

it's him. he sent a picture.

these are my pajamas. now we’re even, baby

him, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight black briefs. the way he's posing is so over the top... he's trying way too hard. his expression is almost comical, like he's not really sure if he's pulling it off but is hoping you'll think he is. you can't help it—you stifle a laugh. but then your eyes drop, and that laughter dies in your throat. the bulge is so obvious, pushing against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. it's not just visible, it's big. big enough that your pulse spikes, and you forget to breathe for a second. that laughter you were holding back? gone. you glance back at his goofy grin in the mirror, but it's no longer funny. shit. you’re wet.

you don't even know how it happens. one moment, you're staring at his picture, then a teasing comment here, a bold reply there—and before you know it, you're lying on your bed, your phone clutched in one hand and your other slipping between your thighs, pressed against the growing ache he's stoked with every message. you've never gone this far with him before—always ignoring his obvious flirting. but you can’t stop now. and he isn’t shy about it either, telling you with detail everything he would do to you.

u'd look soooo fucking good begging under me, baby

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

fuck, i’d bury my face between those thighs and eat u out until u can’t take it anymore

a soft gasp escapes your lips as you read, your body reacting to the vivid images his words paint in your mind. you know you shouldn't be doing this—not with him—but the way he's describing everything makes you forget about all the reasons why. you’re far past the point of feeling shy too. you bite your lip, barely believing yourself as you hit send.

i wish you could feel how wet i am just thinking about you fucking me from behind

god damn girl, i’d stretch that pussy so good my dick is the only thing u’d think about for weeks

and then, it's not just texting anymore—you're sending pictures, even though you swore you wouldn't. the first one is a close-up of your fingers, glistening with your juices. his reply comes almost instantly, not as a text but as a voice message. “shit, baby, you're f-fucking killing me... mhmm... look at that. you're so fucking wet f’me, I can almost taste it through the screen... fuck...” his voice is low and rough, broken by soft, shaky breaths. you can hear him stroking himself, moans slipping out between words. you're losing your damn mind over it, replaying the voice message again and again—fingers curling inside of you as you push them in and out, wishing it were his fingers instead of yours.

he sends a pic too. this time, he leaves nothing to the imagination. it’s a selfie, his face barely visible at the corner. the center of attention is his hard dick, hand wrapped around it, tip leaking precum. and the only thing that comes to your mind right there and then is just how badly you want to take him in your mouth.

one picture leads to another, the messages growing dirtier with every exchange. his words are filthy, his photos even filthier, and the way he talks about your body—what he'd do to it, what he's imagining—fucking hell. your breathing quickens, your body burning with need, and before you know it, that familiar tension starts to coil low in your stomach.

shit, subong… i’m close

u’re gonna cum for me? cmon pretty girl, let me hear you

you hit record just as your orgasm crashes over you, moaning his name loudly as you cum on your fingers. after a few minutes, he sends a voice message back “you sound so fucking good… shit, look what you’ve done t-to me… mmm… fuck, fuck, fuck… i’m gonna cum thinking about fucking you, baby. i’m gonna cum thinking about you making those… s-sounds while i fucking pound into you.”

the next few days are a blur. he hasn’t texted, and you haven’t either. but no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. no matter how hard you try to shake it off, it’s there. his voice, the way he sounded saying your name, the damn nudes, the way your heart raced as you typed those things to him.

you don’t know how to feel about it. on one hand, you can’t deny how much you wanted it in the moment. but now? now you’re not sure. did you cross a line? did he? part of you regrets it, wishes you could just rewind and stop yourself before things spiraled. but another part—one you’re trying to ignore—remembers how good it felt, how right it seemed in the moment.

and then there’s the friendship. years of it. he’s been your best friend for a few years now. he knows things about you no one else does and he’s seen you at your absolute worst. like that night you showed up at his door after a horrible breakup. mascara streaked down your cheeks, and he didn’t say a word—just handed you a blanket, put on your favorite movie, and sat there with you until you fell asleep on his shoulder.

but it wasn’t always serious. like the time he tried rapping one of his freestyles for you, all cocky, and you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. or like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing at the mall, and he laughed so hard he cried, then spent weeks reenacting it whenever you were around. or when he clogged your toilet and tried to fix it himself instead of just telling you. or when he picked a fight with some guy at a club because the guy bumped into you and didn’t apologize. he got all puffed up and said, “you got a problem, man?” like he was some kind of action movie hero. but the guy was huge, like, rugby player huge, and before you could drag subong away, he swung and missed, and the dude took him down in one hit. he spent the rest of the night with a bloody nose and ice pressed to his face, grumbling, “he got lucky.” you still remind him of how he ‘lost a fight in one punch,’ and it always makes him groan.

you’ve got a thousand stupid inside jokes that no one else would understand, like how you always text each other ‘don’t die’ instead of ‘goodnight’ because of some dumb horror movie you watched together. or the fact that he nicknamed you ‘señorita’ when you said you wanted to visit spain one day.

he’s a walking disaster, an endless source of secondhand embarrassment, and somehow, that’s what makes subong… subong. being around him has always felt easy, like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable, familiar, safe.

but friends don’t do… that. what if it’s never the same again? you’ve always been comfortable with him, never overthinking what you said or did around him. now, you can’t imagine looking him in the eye without thinking about what you two did together. you keep telling yourself that things will go back to normal, but deep down, you’re scared they won’t. because you’re not sure you can go back—not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted by him in that way. not after letting yourself want him back.

one day, out of the blue, he texts you like nothing happened. just casually, like you didn't have your hand between your thighs while listening to him moan your name a few nights ago.

yoooo, wanna hop on call and play videogames? i’m bored

at first, you stare at the text, because... what does this mean? is this his way of brushing it under the rug? of pretending nothing ever happened? still, you say yes. because what else can you do? you hop into the call, and there he is—joking, laughing, completely normal. like the two of you didn't cross every possible line. he's so good at acting like nothing's changed, it almost convinces you. you match his energy, responding with the same casual ease. maybe this is fine. maybe you're fine.

then the group chat lights up a few days later: a cinema meet-up. everyone's throwing out ideas for what movie to watch, talking about snacks, debating over showtimes. he's there, throwing in jokes about popcorn sizes and his infamous sweet tooth, and you're sitting there trying to decide if you can handle seeing him face to face. you hesitate, debating if you should just make up an excuse not to go. but then he replies to the chat, tagging you specifically.

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

the day arrives faster than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the cinema, stomach flipping as you spot namgyu, minsu, gyeongsu, and semi waving at you. you force a smile and walk over, doing your best to focus on their chatter and ignore the nerves crawling up your spine. but then you see him—subong, leaning against the wall, vape in hand. and when his eyes land on you, he smirks. he knows damn well. he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s not going to make this easy for you. “finally,” he says when you’re close enough. “i was starting to doubt you’d come.” “why wouldn’t i?” you reply. he shrugs, taking a puff from his vape “thought you might’ve had better things to do.” the way he says it feels loaded, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, turning his attention to namgyu instead.

when it’s time to head into the cinema, you try to position yourself far from him, making a beeline for a seat between minsu and semi. you settle in, thinking you’re safe, but of course, subong has other plans. “yo, minsu, my boy,” he says as he walks down the aisle, stopping directly in front of you. “mind scooting over? i’ll sit here.” “uh, sure,” minsu says, shifting down without hesitation. you open your mouth to object, but before you can say anything, subong is sliding into the seat next to you, drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “hope you don’t mind,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer than necessary. you grit your teeth, keeping your gaze locked on the screen as the previews start. “not at all,” you mutter under your breath.

you think that’s it. but, of course, it doesn’t end there. he shifts in his seat, his arm brushing against yours every now and then, like he’s waiting for you to react. you swear you catch him smirking out of the corner of your eye multiple times. you try to focus on the movie, but it’s impossible when his presence is so loud. every little movement, every tiny glance, has your nerves on edge. and he knows it.

then, you feel it. his hand—light at first— rests on your bare thigh, the heat of his palm sending a jolt through you. you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. what the hell is he doing? his fingers trace a soft line along your skin, caressing just above your knee. you stay still, unsure of what to do, but your body betrays you, not pulling away.

his touch grows bolder, creeping higher up your leg, slipping under your skirt. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he's still watching the movie, acting like nothing is happening, like his hand isn't inches away from your clothed pussy. “what are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns his head toward you, looking innocent, like he's just minding his own business. “nothing.” “subong—” “i'll stop if you want me to.” you don't answer, torn between wanting to push him away and not wanting him to stop at all. “do you want me to stop? be honest,” he says, still waiting for your response. “no,” you reply, looking away with embarrassment. he chuckles softly—hand rubbing the inside of your thigh.

you drape the thin jacket you brought over your legs, a flimsy attempt to shield his hand from semi’s view. every nerve in your body screams that you shouldn’t be letting this happen, but you don’t stop him. he spreads your legs with his hand for better access, and soon you feel two of his fingers pressing against your clit over the fabric of your panties. your breath hitches, and you try not to move—not even a sound escapes you—but your lips part at the feeling of his touch. he moves them slow—too slow—in a way that has you shifting against him, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. and he gives it to you. his hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and a low chuckle leaves him when he feels just how wet you are.

subong knows what he is doing. he rubs your clit in circles, gently but with enough pressure to have you biting your bottom lip. and god, his fingers feel so much better than you ever imagined. when he quickens the pace, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, pretending to be focused on the screen. but the rapid rise and fall of your chest betrays your so-called calm. before you can collect yourself, semi leans in. “are you okay?” “mhm,” you nod quickly, forcing a smile. “yeah, don't worry, i—” your words falter when his fingers move faster. you bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but he's clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i-i'm fine,” you manage to stutter. semi raises an eyebrow. “you sure?” “yeah,” you nod. “alright,” semi says before shrugging and turning her attention back to the screen.

you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. your head snaps toward subong, eyes narrowing in a glare that’s meant to convey exactly how ridiculous he’s being right now. you dig your nails into his wrist, “are you crazy?” but he only pauses for a second, leaning in close enough to whisper, “relax, girl. no one noticed.” the audacity of him sends heat rushing to your face. but he doesn’t back down, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. and just as you’re about to reach your orgasm… he stops. your body jerks in frustration, and you whip your head toward him, confused. his smirk only deepens as he pulls his hand from under your skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean. “what the fuck?” you whisper, a soft groan escaping at the loss of his touch. “what?” he whispers back, feigning innocence. “you know what.” “i don't. you'll have to spell it out for me.” “subong—” “tell me what you want.” the frustration wells up in your chest. to him, this is probably hilarious—you being so desperate. but for you? it's humiliating. pathetic. begging your best friend for something like this. still, the need outweighs your pride. you lean in, your lips almost brushing his ear, “i wanna... i wanna cum. please, make me cum.” “yeah? be fucking quiet, then.”

his fingers slip back under your skirt. your breath catches, and you press your lips together, your body already trembling from how close you were before—gripping the armrest, barely able to keep still. every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire, and when his fingers circle just right, you're done. the release hits hard, and you muffle your moans by biting down on your lip so hard it stings.

the days after are... strange. again. no texting, no acknowledgment, no teasing, nothing. it's like it never happened. and when he does text again, it's so casual it throws you off. he sends a random picture, a meme he has found on instagram.

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

you reply like everything's fine because, well, isn't it? you don’t even know at this point.

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

the replies come fast. namgyu’s working that night. semi has plans with her girlfriend. gyeongsu says he’s too exhausted for it. minsu doesn’t even reply. everyone has an excuse, and eventually, the chat goes dead. then, a private message from subong popps up.

wbu? still down to go?

you and subong had gone clubbing together hundreds of times. hell, most nights it was just the two of you, dancing until your legs gave out, taking blurry selfies, and laughing over cheap drinks. it was normal. so, you type:

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

when the night comes, your phone buzzes as you’re double-checking your look in the mirror.

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

you grab your jacket and head out, the bass from his car already thudding through the air when you step outside. you see him leaning against the passenger door, dressed in his usual baggy style—a loose graphic tee, cargo pants, and sneakers that probably cost more than your entire outfit (the only damn thing he saves up for…)—vape dangling lazily from his fingers. when he sees you, his eyes trail over you for a second too long. “you’re overdressed,” he teases with a smile. “you’re underdressed,” you shoot back.

the drive to club pentagon is easy, filled with a mix of rap tracks and subong’s singing. when you finally pull up, the line’s already stretching down the block, but subong doesn’t even blink. “namgyu’s working, right?” he asks, sliding out of the car. you nod. “yeah, he’ll let us in.” inside, the music is already pulsing, bass heavy enough to shake the floors. subong grabs your wrist. “drinks first?” “obviously,” you answer. you follow subong to the bar, the pounding music buzzing in your ears. “what are we starting with?” he asks, leaning against the bar. “shots,” you say, already reaching into your bag. he raises an eyebrow. “you’re paying?” “you’re broke,” you remind him, rolling your eyes before ordering four shots of tequila. when the glasses arrive, he grabs two and hands you one. “guess i’ll owe you,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “you already do,” you reply, downing the first shot without hesitation. the familiar burn of tequila trails down your throat, and you chase it with a quick breath.

you can feel his eyes on you as you throw back the second shot. you don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel it—the weight of it, the way it makes your stomach flutter. shaking it off, you slam your glass on the counter and signal for one more round. “last one,” you say, mostly to yourself, pulling out more cash. he doesn’t argue, just picks up his shot, watching you as you pick up yours. you both toss back the final shot, and the alcohol is just enough to loosen the knot in your chest. but the way his gaze lingers as he sets his glass down makes it tighten again. “dancing?” you ask. he nods. you push through the crowd till you find a spot on the dance floor. the techno track thuds through your chest as you sway to the rhythm. subong moves with you, not particularly in sync with the beat, but in his own way that somehow works. every now and then, his eyes catch yours, and you have to force yourself to look away.

the music builds, and you let yourself get lost in it, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the haze of the moment. after a while, he stops moving and pulls his phone from his pocket. you glance at him, curious, as he squints at the screen. whatever he sees makes him smile faintly before he shoves the phone back into his pocket. “i need to hit the bathroom!” he says, leaning close so you can hear. you blink at him, confused. “right now?” he nods, gesturing for you to follow. you don’t argue—it’s not exactly safe to hang around the dance floor by yourself. reluctantly, you let him lead you off the floor.

he disappears into the men’s room, leaving you standing against the wall, arms crossed. you tap your foot, watching drunk strangers stumble past. a few minutes later, the door swings open, and subong walks out, a small smirk playing on his lips. “what took you so long?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. instead of answering, he holds up a small plastic bag between his fingers. your stomach flips when you see the little colorful pills inside. “what the hell is that?” you ask, but you already know. he grins, tilting his head. “new stuff.” your brows furrow. “what?” “my plug got these,” he says, holding up the bag slightly. “said they hit different. figured i’d try.” he slides one pill between his fingers, studying it like it’s no big deal. then he brings it to his mouth, about to toss it back. “wait,” you say, grabbing his wrist. he scoffs. “what? you want it instead?” you glare at him. “no, subong. what are you even doing? you don’t need that!” he rolls his eyes, freeing his wrist from your grip. “come on, it’s nothing. we’ve had worse.” “worse?” you scoff. “you’re really gonna compare getting blackout drunk and smoking pot to this?” “you’re fucking overthinking it. it’s just one pill. just tonight. trust me.” he says.

you glance at the bag again, at the little pills that seem so harmless yet scream bad idea. “subong…” you start, but your voice trails off. “look,” he cuts in, his voice softer now. “we’re having a good fucking time, yeah? it’ll be just this once, okay? i promise.” “okay,” you say suddenly, lifting your chin. “but if you do one, i’ll do one.” his smirk falters for half a second. “no.” you frown. “what do you mean, no?” “i mean no. you’re not taking one.” “but you can?” you challenge, crossing your arms.“yeah.” you scoff. “that’s bullshit.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “this isn’t your thing, señorita.” “since when it’s yours?” you snap. “if you’re gonna do it, then so am i.”

he looks at you, really looks at you. then, with an exasperated groan, he reaches into the bag. “fucking stubborn,” he mutters, pulling out another pill. “just this once.” he holds it delicately between his fingers before stepping closer. “open up,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. you hesitate for a second but eventually part your lips, sticking out your tongue. he places the pill gently on it. “there you go,” he says, stepping back and popping his own pill. you swallow it quickly, trying not to think about what you’ve just decided to do.

you move back onto the dance floor, the pill's effects creeping in like a warm wave washing over you. the flashing lights seem brighter now and everything blurs together—colors, sounds, the heat of the crowd—but it feels good. better than it should. your limbs feel lighter, like you're floating, and the energy buzzing inside you pushes you to move. subong is right there beside you, dancing with his hand raised, and you can't stop staring at him. his messy hair sticks to his forehead, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

before you know it, your arms are around his neck, pulling him in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. his eyes burn into yours for half a second, like he’s daring you to close the distance. then his hands are on your waist, rough fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and he drags you closer until you’re pressed against him. the music is pounding, but it feels distant—like the only rhythm you can hear now is the way your bodies move together, hips rolling in time, every brush of his skin against yours making you burn.

his breath fans across your lips, hot and tasting of tequila and something bitter—maybe the pill he took earlier—and it makes your head spin. then your mouth crashes into his. there’s nothing soft about it. it’s messy and sloppy, urgent—like you’re both too far gone to think about anything but this. his lips part against yours immediately, and your tongues meet in a dizzying clash of heat and need. his hands slide up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

you tilt your head, chasing the kiss even deeper. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your bottom lip, a bite that makes you whimper before he soothes it with his tongue. the sound you make pushes him further—he groans into your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face exactly how he wants it.

you’re not sure where the desperation is coming from, but it feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll shatter. your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric as you grind just a little closer, a little harder. he’s breathing just as heavy as you are, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he never wants to stop.

you’ve kissed people before but nothing’s ever felt like this. nothing’s ever felt this fucking good. the two of you stumble out of the club. your legs feel like jelly as you hold onto subong, and his arm wraps around your waist to steady you. his car is parked a few streets over, tucked away in a dark, hidden corner under some trees. “thank god for this spot,” he mutters as he unlocks the doors.

you barely make it into the backseat before he’s on you again—his lips crashing into yours like he’s been waiting for this forever. his hands are all over you, rough and desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. but you’re not going anywhere. his fingers dig into your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, and the second you straddle him, you feel it—hard and thick, pressing right against the heat between your legs. a soft gasp slips out of you, but he swallows it with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. fuck, he’s good.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling as your hips start to move, grinding down on him. his grip tightens immediately, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he guides your movements, rocking you against him harder. the friction creates a delicious, aching pressure that makes you whimper against his lips. “fuck,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his head fall back against the seat. his fingers squeeze your ass, dragging you down against him rougher. “keep doing that.” so you do. you roll your hips, slow at first, letting yourself feel everything. you’re already soaked, already throbbing for more, and from the way his hands are gripping you, the way his breathing is getting heavier, you know he feels it too. “i need to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck. “want you to cum on my tongue.” you do exactly what he wants—legs spread wide, thighs trembling as his head dips between them. his breath is hot against your soaked pussy, teasing, before his tongue finally makes contact—slow at first, a long, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit that makes your whole body jolt.

you gasp at the feeling, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, but it only makes him groan against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure straight through you. he doesn’t hold back. he devours you, eating you out like a man starved, his tongue flicking against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. and when two of his fingers slip inside you, curling deep, pressing against that perfect spot, you swear you see stars. “you taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, his lips slick with your arousal before he flattens his tongue and laps up every drop. the way he’s working you—his mouth, his fingers, the filthy sounds coming from between your legs—it’s too much, too good, and your whole body is trembling, hips rolling against his face, chasing more. “shit—subong!” your voice breaks as the pleasure crashes over you all at once. your thighs clamp around his head, your body arching off the seat as you cum hard against his mouth. but he doesn’t stop—his tongue keeps moving, drinking you in, dragging out your release until you’re shaking.

when he comes back up to kiss you—chin shining with the evidence of your release— your hand instinctively moves to rub him through his pants, the hard outline of his dick impossible to miss. he hisses at the contact, his hips bucking eagerly against your touch. “you got a condom?” you ask. he pauses. “yeah, hold on.” reluctantly, he pulls away and starts patting his pockets. his brows furrow in concentration as he checks one side, then the other. finally, with a relieved grin, he pulls a condom out and holds it up. “got it,” he says before kissing the wrapper, making you chuckle.

he looks so fucking hot as he rolls the condom onto his cock, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. but nothing gets him off more than watching you climb back onto his lap, your soaked folds teasing the head of his dick as you line yourself up. his breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs, barely holding himself back. “fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice tight with restraint. then, slowly you sink down onto him. inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you up until there’s no space left between your bodies. “shit,” he hisses, watching as your slick coats him, making every movement easy, effortless—like your body was made to take him. and when you start moving, lifting your hips before sliding back down, a broken moan escapes his lips. “fuck, baby,” he breathes, hands roaming up your back, gripping your ass, anything to ground himself as you ride him. “you feel so f-fucking good—look at you, taking me so… mmm… so fucking well.” his voice is needy, and when you slam down harder, his hips jerk up to meet yours, pushing even deeper. “oh my—fuck, subong!” you cry out, your walls clenching around him so tight it makes his whole body tense beneath you.

he almost fucking loses it the second he feels you clench around him, his face twisting in pleasure, jaw going slack. his hands grip your hips, guiding you—faster, rougher—eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. he forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his eyes keep threatening to roll back. “fuck, if i’d known how fucking good this pussy is… i would’ve f-fucked you sooner.” he moans as you move faster, bouncing on his cock—every thrust making obscene, slick sounds that only turn him on more. his eyes drop to your tits, bouncing perfectly in time with your movements, and fuck, he can’t decide what he wants more—to keep watching you ride him like this or to flip you over and ruin you.

but then you tighten around him, your rhythm stuttering as you throw your head back, moaning so loud he swears the whole damn neighborhood can hear you. “fuck— i’m gonna—! i-i’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you cum around his cock. and that’s it. that’s all it takes to break him. “shit—ngh!” his body jerks beneath you, his abs tensing as he spills into the condom, his head falling back, mouth open.

his hands are still gripping you, holding you down against him as he rides out every last pulse of his release, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. and fuck—you’re still wrapped around him, warm and wet and perfect. you end up laughing for a solid twenty minutes after that, still too high to fully process what the fuck just happened between you two. but even in your haze, every single detail stays with you the next day.

fucking your best friend while high as fuck one night might’ve been an accident. but then it happens again. and again. and again. and you can’t call it an accident anymore.

it happens everywhere.

in his car, where the windows are always fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space. in your apartment, where he barely gets the door shut before he’s got you pinned against it, hands rough and greedy, yanking your clothes off like he’s been waiting all fucking day for this. sometimes he doesn’t even make it past the kitchen—he just lifts you onto the counter, knocking over whatever’s in his way, too impatient to care as his mouth moves down your neck. in his bed, where the sheets are always a mess, tangled from how hard he fucks you into the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head. even in a club bathroom, right after he gives a show, still high off the energy, sweat dripping down his temple. you’re barely inside before he’s got you bent over the sink, hiking your dress up, shoving your panties to the side, fucking into you so deep you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming his name.

wherever. the second you’re alone, it’s happening. it becomes a thing. a need.

you always figured subong would fuck good. he never shut up about the girls he’s been with, the shit he’s done, bragging like he was the best lay any of them ever had. and every time he talked about it, you’d feel heat pool between your thighs, wondering if he was really that good or just full of shit.

now you knew. and fuck, he wasn’t lying.

he’s rough and passionate—the kind of lover who takes without hesitation but gives just as much, maybe even more. he loves watching you squirm, loves the way your body responds to him like it was made for this. like it needs this. his fingers trail down your skin, barely touching, making you shiver before he finally gives you what you want. and fuck, he lives for it—the way you gasp when he finally presses his mouth between your legs, the way your back arches when he fills you up, stretching you wide, making you take every inch.

some days, he drags it out, torturing you with slow touches, lazy kisses, making you beg before he finally gives in. he’ll tease you until you’re trembling, hands gripping at him desperately, “please, subong… need you so bad.” and then, maybe then, he’ll give you what you’re begging for. other days? he doesn’t bother waiting. before you can say a word, he’s got you pinned to the mattress, yanking your legs apart, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” then he’s inside you, fucking you like he’s been starving for it.

it’s been months now—this thing between you and subong. but you don’t talk about it. not once. there’s no late-night confessions, no whispered ‘what are we?’ between tangled sheets. he doesn’t ask who else you’re seeing, and you sure as hell don’t ask him. but the uncertainty lingers. because he’s still your best friend. you still laugh at his dumb ass jokes, roll your eyes when he’s being his cocky self, and feel that weird, warm twist in your stomach when you catch him watching you from across the room.

and yet, there are a bunch of little things that scream something more. like that time you sat on his rumpled bed while he was writing a song, and you helped him hammer out stupid-ass verses—even when he swore they’d never work. you teased him for his cheesy lines and then watched his face light up like he’d just discovered a new fucking world. hell, he even calls you his muse sometimes, and you hate how damn proud that makes you feel.

or that stormy night. the rain was lashing against the windows, and you two were locked in his tiny studio apartment. one minute you were laughing, taking silly pictures of him with a digital camera while he smoked, and the next, he had your face pressed against the wooden table as he fucked you from behind—your ass cheeks burning from his vigorous spanking. after, he pulled you close, running his fingers through your hair as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

that one night he showed up at your door at 2 a.m., high off his ass, slurring your name with that cocky grin, his knuckles tapping too fast against the wood. “couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “fucking missed you.” you should’ve told him to fuck off, should’ve rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face because he promised he wouldn’t do that shit again. instead, you let him in, let him collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, pulling you down with him. his arms caged you in, the scent of his cheap cologne filling your senses.

then there was the time you caught him staring at you while you were getting ready. you were fixing your hair in his mirror, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and when you turned around, he was just standing there—arms crossed. “what?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. he just shook his head, smirking a little. “nothing,” he said. “you just—you look good in my clothes, mama.”

and when you called him crying after a shitty day at work, voice shaking so bad he could barely understand you. you didn’t even have to ask—he just showed up, no questions. drove way too fucking fast to get to you, and pulled you into his chest so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together. “who do i need to punch?” he asked, half-joking, half-dead serious. and you laughed, even through your tears, because that was him—always trying to make you smile. he let you cry into his hoodie, let you hold onto him like a fucking lifeline, and then, when you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “you’re okay, baby” he murmured. “i got you.” he always had you.

or the night he took you to some shitty underground concert, knowing damn well you didn’t even like the band. “it’s not about the music,” he told you, grinning like an idiot. “it’s about the experience.” you rolled your eyes, but you still let him pull you into the crowd, still let him wrap an arm around you when the pit got too wild, still let him hold your hand. afterward, sweaty and breathless, you sat on the curb outside, sharing a cigarette while he rambled about how sick the show was. “you should play up there one day,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. “your songs have gotten better.” “you think?” “yeah. you’re good, bong-bong.” the nickname made him laugh. a week later, he showed you something he wrote. something raw and messy and fucking beautiful. he let you hear a part of him no one else ever did.

you even helped him rebrand himself. it started with him pacing his room, muttering to himself, stopping every few seconds like he was about to say something, then changing his mind. eventually, you sighed, rolling onto your stomach while watching him from his bed. “are you having a breakdown or just being dramatic?” he ignored you, still pacing. and then, out of nowhere, he stopped. snapped his fingers. looked at you like he just discovered the secret to life itself. “i’m gonna dye my hair purple.” you stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was joking. but he just stood there, completely serious, shoulders squared like he was about to go to war.

within twenty minutes, you were in his bathroom, gloves on, a box of purple dye sitting between you. you didn’t even ask how he got it so fast. knowing him, he’d probably been sitting on this idea for weeks, just waiting for the right moment to drag you into it. he sat on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, while you stood over him, parting his hair and working the dye through. up close, he looked smug as hell, like he knew he was onto something. the whole rap game was about standing out, and he was done waiting for people to notice him.

the name ‘thanos’ caught on faster than you expected. at first, it was a joke—you called him that to be annoying, and then he used it in a song, and suddenly, people were saying it back to him. dms started piling up. more people started listening. before you knew it, subong wasn’t just some guy making music in his bedroom—he was thanos. and, of course, he acted like he knew it was gonna work all along.

and fuck, the time he brought you home to meet his family. his mom fussed over you like you were the perfect daughter-in-law, laying on your favorite dish and insisting you have seconds. then, saying, “he talks about you a lot”, making subong choke on his food while his sister goaded him about how he treats you like his damn girlfriend. you felt so out-of-place and yet so damn loved by the way he proudly introduced you to everyone, as if you were the missing piece in his fucked-up puzzle. he even opened up to you about his dad—how he never gave a shit about him, never looked at him unless it was to point out everything he did wrong. maybe that was why he kept stealing glances at you like he was trying to make sense of it—of being wanted, of being next to someone who actually cared.

and later that night, when you were both lying on his couch, full and sleepy, he nudged your knee with his. “thanks for coming, señorita,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “they liked you.” you turned your head to look at him, saying, “of course they did. i’m fucking amazing.” he smirked, but it faded quick, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”

nights that weren’t about sex at all. the ones where he just wanted you close, his hands resting on your back, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his voice low and sleepy in the dark. “you’re warm,” he’d mumble, pulling you closer. “don’t leave.” “i work tomorrow, baby,” you’d say. “i’ll drive you… stay with me,” he’d always replied.

and you did. every single time.

and there were the nights he fucked you like he meant it. not just like you were some girl he was hooking up with, but like you were the only one who had ever mattered. like he was trying to prove something with every touch, every kiss, every time he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours and whispered your name like a prayer.

like he loved you. but he never said it. and neither did you.

so instead, you settled for the quiet moments—for the way he always pulled you into his lap at parties, his hands resting lazily on your thighs; for the way he let you pick the music when you drove anywhere, even though he always bitched about your taste; for the way he let you steal his fries, let you doodle on his lyrics notebook, let you wear his hoodies even when you didn’t ask; for the way he texted you ‘good morning, baby❤️,’ and it made you smile for no damn reason; for the way you woke up to find him still asleep beside you, hair a damn mess on the pillow, and traced lazy circles on his chest while he mumbled some half-remembered melody. for the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

you can’t help but hope that one day you’ll both just say the damn words and finally admit that all these little moments mean something. you hope that maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop wondering if you’re more than just friends with benefits.

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

who gives a shitttt, i sure as hell don’t, mama

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

oh

alr cool👍🏼💯

can i still come over tho? we could watch a movie or something

yeah okayyy, bring snacks (or else i won’t let you in)

i’m the only snack u need, girl

you don’t expect him to show up with anything, but when you open the door, subong’s standing there, hands full—one holding a plastic bag, the other gripping a bottle of soda. “what’s all this?” you ask, raising a brow. he steps inside without waiting for an invite, kicking off his shoes. “you said ‘bring snacks’, didn’t you?” he says, dropping the bag onto your coffee table. “figured you’d want something sweet.” you peek inside—chocolate bars, a pack of strawberry pocky, even a container of sliced fruit. your chest tightens at the thought of him actually remembering the little things you like.“what, no painkillers?” you tease, flopping onto the couch. he scoffs, collapsing next to you, way too comfortable in your space. “what do i look like, a pharmacy?”

you give him a knowing look, and his lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. grabbing the remote, you ask, “so, what are we watching?” “something i won’t fall asleep to,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “which means no boring indie shit.” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “first of all, my movie taste is elite. second, if you fall asleep, i’m taking pictures.” he grins, lazy and cocky. “yeah? what will you use them for?” heat rushes to your face, and you smack his arm without thinking. “shut up.”

the movie plays, and for a while, it’s normal. easy. you snack on the pocky while subong steals pieces of fruit from the container, acting like he’s doing you a favor by eating the ones you don’t like. he stretches out on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. goddamn.

it's barely been a few minutes when you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch, his strong hand fisting in your hair as you hungrily suck his dick like your life depends on it. you couldn’t help it. he just looked too fucking good. you take him deep, your nose pressing against his abs, gagging slightly but refusing to back off. he lets out a groan as you take him, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your head up and down. “fuck, just like that baby... show me how much you love this dick.” his hips thrust forward, making you gag slightly. “you're so f-fucking good for me... mmm such a pretty little mouth, choking on my cock.”

drool slips down your chin as you struggle to breathe but maintain eye contact, wanting him to see how much you love taking him in your mouth. the wet, obscene sounds of you slurping and gagging fill the room. he watches you intently, pupils blown wide with lust, his dick throbbing against your tongue. moaning around him, the vibrations make his thighs quake. "shit... you’re gonna make me fucking c-cum," he breathes out. “you gonna… you gonna let me cum in that s-sweet mouth of yours, hm?” “mhmm,” you purr around his length, looking up at him with hooded eyes. you double your efforts, sucking him hard and fast, your hand pumping what you can’t reach. he holds your head in place as he comes, making you to swallow every last drop. you take a moment to catch your breath, wiping your mouth before sitting back up.

the bathroom lights hum to life as you rinse your mouth and splash cool water on your face, trying to shake off the heat thrumming through you. you press your palms against the sink, inhaling deep in an attempt to look less flustered. the movie’s still on when you come back. you get comfortable, leaning into subong just slightly. he doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and lets you settle in against his side. the warmth of him seeps into you, and you rest your head on his shoulder. subong smiles at you before kissing your forehead, something that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.

you shift slightly, but he just pulls you in closer, his body solid and warm against yours. your heart stutters in your chest, and the thought of what you are—what you actually mean to him—becomes impossible to ignore. the longer you sit there, the harder it is to pretend this is normal. your heart is beating too fast, your mind racing with thoughts you’ve been shoving down for months. finally, you tilt your head to glance up. “subong,” you start, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. he hums, eyes still on the screen, but you can tell he’s listening. you swallow, suddenly nervous. “what… what are we doing?” that gets his attention. “what do you mean?” you sit up a little, putting some space between you—enough to see him clearly. “this. us. it’s been months, and we’ve never talked about it.” “what’s there to talk?” “i mean, is this just sex to you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tenses, his eyes flicking away for a second like he’s weighing his words. “does it feel like just sex to you?” he finally asks. your chest tightens. “no.” his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. like maybe he’s been trying to convince himself of something different. “right. it’s not just sex, we’re friends, too,” he says. “then why are we acting like this?” you push. he rubs a hand over his face. “i don’t know.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. the silence stretches thick between you, but you refuse to let it suffocate you. you need to know. “what do you want this to be?”

subong exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. he looks frustrated, like he doesn’t even want to have this conversation. like you’re ruining something by asking. “why do we have to call it something?” he says finally, and your stomach twists. you blink, sitting up a little. “because it’s been months, subong. because we’re not—we’re not just fucking and then going our separate ways. because we’re sitting here, cuddling, watching a damn movie, and it feels like more.” his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around his knee. “it doesn’t have to mean anything.” that stings. worse than you were expecting. you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “it does to me.” his face twists, like he hates hearing that. “shit, don’t fucking do this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “why can’t we just keep things the way they are?” “because i’m tired of pretending this is casual when it’s not,” you snap, your voice cracking. “not for me, at least.”

he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold something back. when he looks at you again, his expression is unreadable, but his next words hit like a punch to the gut. “then maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this fucking far.” you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. “what?” “i never promised you shit.” the words cut deep, sharper than anything he’s ever said to you before. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. because he’s right. he never did. but the way he touched you, the way he held you after—none of that felt like nothing. you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he hesitates for a second too long. and that’s all you need to know. you force yourself to nod, pressing your lips together. “okay.” his brows furrow, like he wasn’t expecting you to take it like that, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything else. you grab the remote, press stop on the movie, and push yourself off the couch. “you should go.” “are you fucking serious?” you cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your composure. “yeah, i’m serious. get the fuck out.” “we have one fucking shitty conversation, and now you don’t want me here?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “what the fuck do you want from me, subong?” your voice shakes, and you can feel it crack, but you force it out. “sit here and pretend like i didn’t just fucking tell you how i feel? pretend i’m not fucking hurt because you—” you stop yourself, biting your lip so hard it almost bleeds. his jaw clenches. “what?” you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “because you don’t fucking care.” “i never said i don’t care.” “you might as well have,” you snap, voice breaking with frustration. “you just don’t give a shit enough to do anything about it.” he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing hard through his nose. “just because i care doesn’t mean we have to slap a fucking label on it!” “and i just have to be okay with that?!” you snap, your voice rising. “i have to sit here like a dumbass and pretend this is fine when it’s not?”

he throws his hands up, his face twisting in frustration. “for fuck’s sake, why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” “difficult?!” you let out a humorless laugh. “you’re the one acting like a fucking idiot, subong! you want to fuck me, cuddle me, act like i’m your fucking girlfriend, but the second i ask you to be honest about what this is, suddenly i’m the problem?! you even introduced me to your damn family!” he freezes for half a second when the words leave your mouth, then he stands up, jabbing a finger in your face. “what the fuck did you just call me?!” you swat his hand away, your glare burning into him. “don’t fucking point at me like that!” his jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare like he’s barely keeping himself from snapping. “you wanna talk about being a fucking idiot?! look in the fucking mirror!” he spits. “you’re the one acting like some needy little bitch because i won’t say what you wanna hear.” “fuck you, subong!” you don’t say anything else. you just turn on your heel and walk out of the living room, heading straight for the kitchen. your hands are shaking, your chest tight, and you just need to put some distance between you and him before you completely fall apart. behind you, you hear him scoff. “seriously? you’re just gonna walk away mid-fucking-conversation?”

you grip the edge of the counter, squeezing your eyes shut. maybe if you stay quiet, he’ll take the fucking hint and leave. but of course, he doesn’t. you hear his footsteps as he follows you in. “you always do this shit,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “running off the second things don’t go your way.” you whirl around, your eyes burning. “what should i do, then? hm? get on my knees and suck your fucking dick again?!” he clenches his fists at his sides, his mouth opening like he’s about to argue—but then he hesitates. because the truth is, you do mean something to him. he just doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it. subong has never done this before—never been in something that wasn’t just fucking around, never had to deal with real feelings, real expectations. and the idea of fucking it up? it scares the shit out of him. but instead of admitting that, instead of being honest for once in his life, he just does what he does best—pushes, lashes out. it seems easier than dealing with what he feels when he’s around you.

“why do you care so fucking much about not calling it something?” you ask, your voice softer now. “if we’re not seeing other people, if we’re always together, if you do care about me, then why?” his throat bobs as he swallows hard. and then—because he’s a fucking coward—he lies. “who says i’m not seeing other people?” you freeze. his face is unreadable, but you can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he already regrets saying it. “you’re lying.” your voice is quiet. he just shrugs, “i’ve been seeing this girl.” “who?” you raise your voice, taking a step closer as tears start falling down your face. “who?!” “i’m not fucking telling you!” “are you serious?! aren’t we supposed to be friends too?! we used to tell each other everything!”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second—just a second—something flashes in them. something like guilt. but then he shuts it down, scoffing as he shakes his head. you continue, “but we’re not even friends anymore, are we?” “don’t say that.” “why not? it’s true, isn’t it? friends don’t do what we do,” you wipe at your face, even though the tears won’t stop fucking falling. he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing it against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to hold something back. but then he just shrugs again, voice flat. “guess we’re not fucking friends either, then.”

your vision blurs as you cry, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. “get the fuck out, subong.” your voice breaks on the last word, and you hate how fucking weak you sound, how pathetic. and the second the first real sob rips out of your throat, something in him shifts. “fuck. no, i—” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair, his voice softer now, like he’s realizing he went too far. “i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry—i’m sorry, baby.” “don’t fucking call me that!” “you gotta listen to me!” you shake your head, taking a step back, your whole body trembling. “no. i’m done listening to your fucking bullshit.” “baby, please.” his voice cracks, and his hands reach for you—hesitant, like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him touch you. “please.” you slap them away instantly. “don’t fucking touch me.” “you’re really just gonna shut me out like this?!” “you shut me out first!” “i fucking care about you!” “not enough!” his breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he just stares at you. “you’re being fucking dramatic.” “get the fuck out of my house, subong.” “why are you being such a fucking—” “say it.” your voice is a challenge, daring him to go there. he doesn’t hesitate. “bitch. a fucking bitch. you—you’re acting like a bitch.”

you’ve had enough. without thinking, you shove him—hard. he stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but you don't stop. you shove him again, your palms flat against his chest. “you’re a fucking asshole! fuck you! get out! get the fuck out!” his jaw tightens, like he wants to argue, like he wants to throw something else back at you, but you're already stepping forward again, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the front door. subong wrenches his arm away, but you don't let it stop you. you push him again, shoving him past the threshold. but he’s not moving, so you grab the nearest thing—his damn sneakers—and chuck them at him, one after the other. the first one bounces off his chest, the second one catches him square in the shoulder. “what the fuck, man?!” subong barks, flinching back, his face twisting in irritation. he barely catches the second shoe before it can hit the ground. “you’re a crazy bitch!”

“fuck off!” your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. you’re already stepping forward, already reaching for the door—and you slam it in his face. the sound echoing through the room. for a moment, silence. a long, awful pause where your breath hitches, where your chest tightens so much it feels like you’re suffocating. then—“open the door. c’mon, open—open the fucking door!” he slams his fist against the wood. “stop being so fucking childish!” “you’re calling me childish?! grow up, subong! you’re twenty six, you don’t know what you want and you still dress like a fucking kid!” he bangs the door. “you’re one to talk, girl! always dressed like a damn slut!”

you squeeze your eyes shut and stumble to your room until your knees hit the bed, and then you’re collapsing onto it. the first sob breaks out of you before you can stop it, and then another, and another. you curl into yourself, pulling the blanket over your head, pressing your hands against your ears. but it doesn’t block him out. “fucking talk to me!” another bang. you hear the doorknob rattle. “baby, please! i’m sorry, okay?! c’mon, don’t do this! we’re fucking friends!” your voice is muffled when it finally comes, thick with tears, but loud enough for him to hear you. “go away!” “not fucking happening! open the damn door!” “go away or i’m calling the fucking cops, motherfucker!” that seems to work. you curl tighter, press your face into the pillow, and sob until the sound of his fists against the door fades away. he did this. he made you feel this way. and he fucking hates himself for it. but it’s too late.

the next few days are absolute shit. you barely leave your bed at first. your body feels too heavy, your chest too tight, your eyes too sore from crying. when you do finally move, it’s only to go through the motions—brushing your teeth, pulling on the same oversized hoodie, forcing down a few bites of food even when everything tastes like nothing, and going to work. you don’t check your phone at first. you can’t. but eventually, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who it is. subong. you let it ring. he calls again. and again. when it finally stops, the texts start.

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

you turn the phone face down. but he doesn’t stop. every time you glance at your screen, his name is there.

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

years and years of friendship man and u throw it all away like that?

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

the texts keep coming. always at random times. but the worst ones come at night. one day, at 4:12 a.m., your phone buzzes against your nightstand. you try to ignore it, try to pretend you’re asleep, but something tells you to look.

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

its fucking 4am. i wake up at 6 to go to work, stfu and leave me alone

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

fuck you, subong. i don’t want to see you again

come bsck

i loveyouy

you block him, roll over, and squeeze your eyes shut. but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when the last words he sent are still glowing behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.

blocking him should have brought peace. should have been the final step, the clean break. but it doesn’t feel like that. instead, it feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting to resurface, except there’s no hand to pull you up this time. the first few days, you keep checking your phone out of habit. unlocking it without thinking. but there’s nothing. you still reach for him in small ways—almost texting him when something funny happens, almost turning to tell him about your day. but you can’t do that. you won’t do that. so you keep yourself busy. you pick up a book, let your eyes scan the words without really absorbing them. go on long walks, let the cold air bite at your skin, hoping it shocks you out of your thoughts. start journaling, writing down everything except his name, except the way your chest still feels hollow. you even try new things—take a yoga class with a friend, bake cookies at 2 a.m., cut your hair just to feel something different. but memories of him are stitched into the fabric of your life.

you hear his voice on the radio sometimes now, when they play a song of his that went viral. see him in the reflection of dark car windows, like he’s just a step behind you. hear a joke and immediately think about how he’d laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the edges. you tell yourself that eventually, you’ll forget. but some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s staring at his too. if he’s thinking about you. and the ache doesn’t go away.

your phone rings one night, when you’re already in bed. you almost don’t answer, but when you see semi’s name flash across the screen, you pick up. “hello?” your voice is groggy, tired. “hey,” semi says. “sorry, did i wake you?” “no,” you lie. “what’s up?” there’s a pause. hesitation. then, “it’s subong.” your stomach drops. “we’re worried about him.” she rushes the words out, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “he’s been acting weird lately—worse than usual.” you close your eyes, already knowing where this is going. already knowing what she’s about to say before she even says it. “he’s been taking those pills,” she continues. “the ones he used to mess with sometimes, but now he’s on them all the time. it’s like he’s not even—shit. he was out,” she says, frantic. “namgyu couldn’t wake him up at first, it was fucking bad, dude. and now he’s still high as hell, barely making sense, and he keeps—” she hesitates. you frown. “he keeps what?” “he keeps mumbling your name.” you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. you press your fingers to your temple, trying to stop the pounding in your head. “fuck.” “he’s not okay,” she says. “he’s barely sleeping, barely eating. he looks like shit. well, he always does, but you know what i mean. and when he does talk, it’s like he’s—like he’s not there.”

you take a shaky breath. you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. he’s not your problem anymore. but your stomach still twists at the thought of him like that. “maybe you could talk to him?” semi says, hopeful. “when he feels better. i think he’d listen to you. gyeongsu is gonna take us to the hospital in a few minutes, maybe you could come too? we’ll pick you up. we’re at namgyu’s apartment, we had to take him—” “we’re not friends anymore, semi,” you cut off, swallowing down the lump in your throat. silence. “what?” she says. “what do you mean?” “he hasn’t told you?” “told us what?” “it doesn’t matter,” you say finally, letting out a heavy sigh. “i can’t help him.” “but—” “i can’t, semi.” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. she falls quiet. after a long moment, she sighs. “alright, okay,” she says, voice heavy with disappointment. “i just… i didn’t know.”

and even though you tell yourself it’s not your problem, even though you tell yourself you did the right thing—you don’t sleep that night. maybe you’re the most horrible person ever. for not helping him. that’s what you think to yourself as the days go by. you don’t go to see him. you don’t text semi back. you tell yourself that there’s nothing you could have done, that he made his choices, that you’re not responsible for saving him. but the guilt sticks to your ribs.

you keep moving forward. and then, somewhere along the way, you meet him. he’s nothing like subong. not really. but sometimes, in the way he leans back in his chair, in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way he laughs when he’s had one too many drinks—he almost is. (he even likes rap!) and maybe that’s why you let him take you out. why you let him kiss you. why you let him press his hands against your skin and pretend it feels right. it doesn’t. but you let it happen anyway. because it’s easier. because when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend it’s subong. it’s fucked up. you know it’s fucked up. but you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that this is what moving on is supposed to look like. but it’s not fair. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. and when he asks what’s wrong, why you get quiet sometimes, why you look at him like you’re seeing someone else—you just smile. shake your head. press a kiss to his lips and hope he never realizes that you don’t mean it. hope he never realizes that no matter how hard you try—subong is still the only one you see.

he invites you to a show one night, says it’ll be fun. you don’t really know much about it—just that it’s some rap battle tournament called ‘rap battlegrounds’—but you’re bored, and it’s something to do. you don’t ask too many questions because, honestly, you don’t care that much. he picks you up, and you follow him through the neon-lit streets to a club you’ve never seen before, the bass already thumping from inside. he leads you through the crowd to a small corner of the club. it’s dark, gritty, with exposed brick walls and dim, flickering lights that barely cut through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. the floor is sticky. it’s the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight, you let it slide.

you're barely paying attention, your eyes drifting over the crowd, the noise just background filler. the battles blur together, the hype not really doing anything for you. you're zoning out, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the beat, hoping this night will pass quickly—regretting all your life choices when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. when suddenly, a voice crackles through the mic, cutting through the noise. “yo, yo, yo, we got a real one up next! fresh off that new heat, straight killin’ the game—make some noise for ‘thanos’!” you freeze, snapping your head to the stage as the crowd cheers. “…and he’s goin’ up against the beast, the local legend, the one and only jace ‘the hammer!’”

there’s no way. you blink, trying to process it, but everything’s too dark, shadows everywhere, making you second-guess yourself. but then, you hear it—his voice. your stomach sinks. this is real. subong is here. for a second, you think you might pass out. he’s standing there, center stage, all cocky confidence, rapping like he owns the room. you wish you could ignore it, wish you could pretend he’s just another guy on stage, but he isn’t. and you can’t. and then it happens. his eyes sweep across the crowd, like he’s eating up the attention, and then they land on you. he freezes. just for a second—just long enough for his flow to falter, the words dying on his tongue. the beat keeps going, but he doesn’t, and the guy he’s battling jumps in, taking advantage of the opening. subong blinks, shakes his head, tries to recover—but it’s too late. he’s lost the rhythm, lost the momentum, and the battle ends with subong’s opponent eating up the win. the crowd erupts, but subong doesn’t hear any of it. he stands there for a second, chest rising and falling like he can’t believe it—like he can’t believe he actually lost. then, without another word, he shoves the mic into someone’s hand and disappears behind the stage.

someone else takes the spotlight almost immediately, the next rappers stepping up, music booming through the speakers again. you turn to the guy beside you, grabbing his wrist. “i wanna leave.” he frowns. “what? why?” you glance toward the side of the stage, your stomach twisting. subong won’t just leave it alone—you know him. “i’m just—i’m kinda tired.” the nervousness in your voice alarms him. “are you okay? what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just don’t wanna be here right now.” he studies you, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes how tense you are, how your shoulders are stiff, how you haven’t stopped glancing over your shoulder. his expression softens, just a little. “hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “it’s okay. i’ll take you home.” “yeah?” “of course.” you don’t move when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. and it feels like… nothing. just lips on lips, a fleeting warmth that barely registers. your chest feels tight, like you need to shake something off, drown something out. so you kiss him back, harder this time, pressing in, searching for something. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way seeing subong on that stage messed with your head, knocked you off center. maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you can feel that rush with someone else. but you don’t. no matter how deep the kiss goes, no matter how much you try to lose yourself in it, there’s nothing there.

and just a second later, he’s ripped away from you—shoved back so hard he stumbles, nearly knocking into the bar behind him. and when you look up, you already know. subong stands there, shoulders tense, and his eyes locked on you. “what the fuck are you doing?!” “me?! what the fuck are you doing, subong?!” the guy composes himself and goes back next to you with a strained expression, one of his hands caressing his side. “what’s your problem, man?!” “who the fuck is this?” subong demands, his eyes never leaving yours. you exhale sharply. “just leave me alone.” disbelief flashes across his face like you’ve just insulted him. “nah, what the fuck is this?” he gestures vaguely between you and the guy. “this who you’re with now?” the guy straightens up. “is there a problem?” subong laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah, there’s a fucking problem. who the fuck are you?” “just go, subong.” you cut in quickly. “no. i’m not fucking leaving.”

the guy beside you steps in, placing himself between you and subong. “you know this asshole?” he asks you. you sigh, “he’s… we used to be friends,” you reply. “yeah, and i’ve probably fucked her more times than you have, bro,” subong adds, a smirk on his face. “don’t listen to him,” you tell the guy before redirecting your attention to subong. “you’re being more than ridiculous right now. stop it. leave us alone.” he just stares, like he didn’t even hear you. like you didn’t just tell him to fuck off. “ridiculous?” he repeats, like the word itself it’s funny to him. “you wanna know what’s fucking ridiculous? you showing up here with—” he finally looks at the guy, eyes dragging over him like he’s barely worth acknowledging “—this.” “enough! i said… leave us alone.” “no, we need need to talk.” “she told you to leave, man.” the guy interrupts. wrong move. subong’s lips curl into something mean. “and who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he sizes him up, scoffing. the guy doesn’t back down. he squares his shoulders, keeping himself between you and subong like he actually thinks that’ll stop him. subong steps closer, just enough to invade his space. you step forward, grabbing the guy’s arm. “seriously, let’s just go—”

subong’s hand shoots out, grabbing his collar. the guy shoves him back instantly, and that’s all it takes. subong’s always been quick to anger, and now he’s pissed. “relax,” the guy says, lifting his hands like he’s trying to de-escalate, but subong’s past that. “relax? you want me to relax when you’re out here kissing my girl?” the guy exhales through his nose. “you wanna fight me over her that bad?” he shakes his head. “man, you already lost once tonight.” subong’s expression shifts in an instant. his shoulders go tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw locks so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. he snaps, swinging first. it’s fast, a punch aimed straight for the guy’s jaw, but he dodges, stepping back just in time. the guy doesn’t waste time. he drives forward, ramming his shoulder into subong’s chest, sending him stumbling back. for a second, you think it might end there—but of course, it doesn’t. subong recovers quick, too quick. he surges forward, grabbing the guy’s shirt and yanking him down just to throw a knee into his ribs. the guy grunts, shoving him off, and then they’re both swinging. fists connect, curses fly, and you can barely keep up. the guy tries to hold his own, landing a few hits, but subong barely flinches. he’s fueled by something else, and he’s not stopping. one punch lands hard against the guy’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. another follows, a brutal hit to his jaw that makes him stumble. then another. and another. the guy grunts, arms coming up to shield himself, but subong doesn’t let up. he grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him forward just to slam his fist into his face again.

blood splatters. and that’s when you snap out of it. “subong, stop!” he doesn’t hear you. “subong!” he pulls back for another hit, and you move before you even think. you grab him by his shirt, using all your strength to shove him back. he stumbles, losing his grip on the guy, his eyes wild when they snap to yours. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, chest heaving. subong’s nostrils flare, hands still clenched into fists like he’s seconds away from going back for more. the guy groans, wiping blood from his face. “you broke my fucking nose, man! you’re insane!” he yells. “shut the fuck up,” subong spits, but before he can go at him again, you shove him harder. “leave him alone!” his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark, burning into yours. for a second, you think he might listen, that the fight might finally be over. but then, in one swift movement, he grabs your wrist. “what are you—” you barely get the words out before he pulls you with him, dragging you through the crowd, past the stage. “let go of me!” you struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t stop. people turn to look, but no one moves to intervene. they just watch. before you know it, you’re backstage, away from the lights, away from the eyes—trapped in a space that feels too small.

subong finally stops, shoving you back against the wall. you barely have a second to catch your breath before you’re shoving him off. “what the fuck is wrong with you?! what the fuck was all of that about?! huh?!” you slam your hands against his chest, but he barely moves. his jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “what the fuck is wrong with me?! you’re really asking me that?! when you’re the one out there acting like a desperate fucking slut?!” your head jerks back, a bitter laugh ripping from your throat. “are you fucking serious right now?! you just beat the shit out of him, and you’re mad at me?! for what?! for moving the fuck on?!” “yeah, i fucking am!” he snaps. before you can react, he steps in, closing the space between you in an instant. his hands come up, slamming against the wall on either side of your head. your whole body tenses. he’s seething, breath ragged and reeking of cheap liquor and god knows what else. “why?!” “because you’re mine!” “yours?! fuck off!” you shove at him again, hard. “and take a goddamn shower while you’re at it. you smell like a fucking alleyway.”

his nostrils flare. “yeah? well, you smell like a cheap whore.” rage flares hot in your chest. “right, because you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you?” you sneer. his head tilts, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “at least i don’t pretend to have fucking standards. what’s his name, huh?” your stomach turns, but you don’t let it show. instead, you smile. “why? you jealous? go cry about it, asshole.” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know he’s just using you, right? you’re nothing but a warm hole to him.” your hand flies up before you can think better of it, shoving his face away. “yeah. like that wasn’t exactly what i was to you too, motherfucker.” he stumbles back a step, running a hand over his jaw. “we never talked about what the fuck we wanted, or what we expected from each other. so don’t—don’t—” “that’s what you tell yourself? that you didn’t lead me on? that you didn’t fuck with my head for months?!” you cut him off. “you’re a fucking coward, subong. too fucking scared to admit you wanted me, but the second i move on, suddenly you give a shit?” “move on? to who? that fucking loser? you think he actually gives a shit about you?” “and you do?” “you can’t just act like we never fucking happened!” “we didn’t happen, that’s the thing!” you shoot back. “you didn’t want to be with me like that,” your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “so you don’t get to fucking act like this. you don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to start fights over me, and you sure as hell don’t get to drag me back here like you own me.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. he looks away for a second, like if he doesn’t meet your eyes, this won’t sting as much. like he can pretend this isn’t hitting him the way it is. his fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto something—maybe the last shred of whatever this used to be. his breath comes sharp through his nose, the kind that’s meant to steady him but doesn’t do a damn thing. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “i don’t—i don’t own you.” but there’s something bitter in the way he says it, like he hates that it’s true. like he hates that he ever let it get to this point. you’re not his anymore. you never were, really. “then stop acting like it! don’t try to ruin everything just because you can’t handle the fact that i moved the fuck on!” for a second, he doesn’t say anything. his eyes flick over your face, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something worse. but then— “if you had, you wouldn’t have let that motherfucker shove his tongue down your throat right in front of me.” you scoff. “you think i did that on purpose?” he steps in, too close, and you instinctively take a step back. “fuck yeah, you did. you wanted me to see it. you wanted to fucking piss me off.” “you piss yourself off, subong! newsflash! not everything is about you! get over yourself.” “get over myself? you made me look like a fucking idiot out there!” “what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyes flash. “you made me lose the fucking battle, man!” you blink, caught off guard for half a second, then roll your eyes. “first of all, i’m not a man. second of all, don’t blame that shit on me.” “right. it’s never your fucking fault, huh?” he shakes his head. “you just get to do whatever the fuck you want and act like it doesn’t affect me.” you throw your hands up. “if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!” “yeah?!” “yeah!”

and then there’s silence. thick, heavy silence. his breathing is still ragged, his hands still curled into fists at his sides. your heart is pounding, your own fists clenched just as tight. then subong scoffs, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking full of shit.” “excuse me?” “you wanna talk about me being an asshole when you’ve been ignoring me for months? like i didn’t fucking exist.” the pain in his voice is evident and it catches you off guard. “i wasn’t—i didn’t ignore you. i was trying to heal. you’re seriously throwing that in my face right now?” “yeah, i am. don’t act like you’re the only one who got hurt.” “don’t do that.” “do what? tell the truth? you fucking blocked me, girl!” “no! don’t—don’t twist shit around just to make yourself feel better,” you snap. “you know exactly why i did it. don’t act like you’re the fucking victim.” “who is it then? you?” he scoffs. “oh, eat shit, subong! you never fucking came to see me!” you throw your arms out, exasperated. “not once! you could’ve fixed this, but you didn’t.” his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “you think i didn’t want to?” “i don’t know what the fuck you wanted!” your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “i called! and texted you every single fucking day!” “and you think that’s enough?! after everything?!” "i almost fucking overdosed!" he yells. "i was at my fucking lowest, and you—" he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you weren't there." you shake your head, anger bubbling in your chest. "don't put that on me, subong. you did that to yourself," you snap, voice sharp. "don't fucking guilt trip me with that." "are you serious?" “what do you want me to say? did you expect me to just forget everything and come back to you like nothing happened? you promised me—how many times?—that you weren’t gonna do that shit anymore, and here we are! and not only are you trying to make me feel like a fucking piece of shit for it, but you’re also acting like this—all of this—is my fault? when you were the one who decided i wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a fuck buddy?”

his expression falters—just a flash of something almost guilty—but then he scoffs, masking it with anger. “you’re really trying to act like you didn’t fucking replace me the second i was gone?” “replace you?” you repeat, incredulous. “you can’t be serious right now. i wasn’t the one fucking other people when we were…. whatever we were!” he freezes, his face draining of color for a split second. “don’t bring that shit up.” “oh, I’ll bring it up, alright. because you can’t say that shit to me when you were too busy screwing around while i was waiting for you to call me your fucking girlfriend.” he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a group of people walk past, glancing over at the scene. a couple of them whisper, eyes flicking nervously from you to subong. his face hardens, irritation flashing across his features, and without warning, he grabs your wrist. “what the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps at them. the group quickly averts their gazes, pretending they weren’t just watching him. he yanks you away and you struggle for a moment, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. you’re too caught up in the heat of the moment to really think about where he’s taking you. before you know it, you’re being shoved through a door into a dimly lit room backstage, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes in the silence. the room is small, cluttered with his belongings—bags, jackets, and scattered items. a mirror with round vanity lights casts a dull glow over the space, reflecting the mess on the counter: a half-empty water bottle, energy drink cans, his vape, a lighter, a bunch of candy wrappers and a few crumpled papers.

“you need to stop doing that!” you snap. “dragging me around like i’m—i don’t know—like i’m some puppet!” he ignores your words. “listen,” he says, “i tried to make it right, okay? i did.” “calling me? texting me?” you scoff, disbelief laced in your voice. “that’s what you think making it right looks like? all you ever did was send bullshit messages—half insults, half nothing at all.” you shake your head. “if you actually meant it, you would’ve come to me. you know where i live, where i work—you had every chance to show up, to prove that you actually gave a damn. but you didn’t.” his voice shakes now. “i thought… i thought you didn’t fucking need me anymore! i thought you’d be better off without me!” “better off without you?! that’s the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard!” before you can stop yourself, you shove him, hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “you were my fucking best friend, you idiot!” your voice cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek, and you have to look away. “and i…” the words tangle in your throat. you swallow hard, forcing them out. “i fucking loved you.”

the words hit him like a fist to the gut. he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. because he knows. he knows exactly how that feels. he’s loved you too—probably longer than he even realized. but he’s never said it. not properly. not in a way that mattered anyway. and now? now it sounds like it’s too fucking late. “loved,” he repeats. “past tense?” you don’t answer. “you don’t—you don’t love me anymore?” the words slip out before he can stop them, and he hates how pathetic they sound, how fucking vulnerable they make him. “subong i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i can’t do this,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “answer me,” he presses, stepping closer, his pulse thundering in his ears. “please.” “i’m not talking about this,” you say firmly, reaching for the door. but he moves faster, pressing his hand against it, keeping you trapped in the small room with him. you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “i don’t want to see you again, subong.” “i do.” “well, i don’t.” “why not?” “because it fucking hurts!” the words barely leave your lips before the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once. “it… it hurts.” your throat burns, and suddenly, you can’t hold it back anymore. a choked sob rips through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

subong’s eyes widen for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with the sight of you breaking down in front of him. but then, without hesitation, he reaches for you. “i know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “i know, baby.” the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way he holds you…it all feels too fucking good. too safe. too much like home. you sob into his shirt, fists clutching at the fabric, body shaking as months’ worth of pain and anger pour out of you. he holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting firm against your waist. “i’m sorry,” he breathes.

you suck in a sharp breath, realization slamming into you. and just like that, the warmth turns suffocating. “no,” you whisper, pushing against his chest. he stiffens. “what—” “get off me.” he hesitates, grip loosening slightly, but you shove harder, forcing space between you. “fuck, subong, what the hell am i doing?” he looks at you, confused, almost dazed, like he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly pulling away. “baby—” “don’t call me that,” you cut him off. “i can’t—i can’t do this with you.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t mean that. you know you don’t.” “i do! because you fucking broke me!” you yell, hands trembling. “and i hate that you still make me feel like this!” you pause, trying to catch your breath, wiping at your face furiously. you hate the way the tears cling to your skin. you hate even more that he’s standing there, watching you cry. you force yourself to steady your voice. “i’m leaving.” “no, you’re not.” he’s there—blocking the door. you let out a frustrated breath, shoving at him again, but he doesn’t move an inch. “subong, move.” nothing. he doesn’t even blink. “is he your boyfriend?” the question throws you off balance. your brows furrow, and for a moment, the anger is eclipsed by confusion. “what?” “that guy. is he your boyfriend?” you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you glare at him. “jesus christ, subong, really?” “is he?” “it’s none of your business,” the words are clipped, laced with venom. his eyes darken. “none of my—?” he drags a hand through his hair, like he’s barely keeping himself together. for a second, it looks like he might actually lose it. “seriously? you can’t even say no?” “why does it matter?!” you snap. “it fucking matters to me!” your heart pounds. you don’t know why it’s so hard to answer, why the words feel like they’re lodged in your throat. his patience wears thin. “fucking hell, just—” “no!” you cut him off. “he’s not my boyfriend, okay?!” you shake your head. “did you fuck him?” “are you serious right now?” “answer the fucking question,” he demands, stepping closer. you scoff, shaking your head. “you’re actually insane.” “fucking answer!” “yes!” the word rips out of you before you can stop it. “yeah, i did. happy now?”

for a moment, he doesn’t react. he just stares at you, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare. but nothing can stop the thought from sinking its claws into him—someone else touching you, having you, getting what he let slip through his fingers. it makes him sick. and it’s his own damn fault. he knows he has no right to be angry. no right to feel this way. but the jealousy curdles in his stomach, and before he can stop himself, the words tear from his mouth like a whip. “you’re a fucking whore.” the second he says it, he hates himself for it. but he doesn’t take it back. your fury is instant, white-hot.“fuck you! don’t call me that!” “i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want!” he snaps. he needs to hurt you, to make you feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling. “you really don’t see how fucking pathetic that is? spreading your legs for some guy who doesn’t even matter?” the words taste like acid in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway. he doesn’t know how else to deal with the anger, the self-hatred he feels. it’s easier to take it out on you than to admit the truth—that he ruined everything, that he’s the reason you were with someone else.

your vision goes red. before you can think, before you can stop yourself, your hand swings up and smacks across his face. his head jerks to the side from the impact, and for a moment, everything is dead silent except for the sharp sound of your ragged breathing. then, slowly, he turns back to you, his jaw tightening, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the sting of your palm. “did you just hit me?” his voice is low. oh, he’s angry. “yeah, i fucking did,” you say, your hands trembling. “because you’re a fucking piece of shit!” “you’ve got some fucking nerve!” he seethes, shoving your forehead with two of his fingers, forcing your head back slightly. you slap his hand away, your own anger doubling at the touch. “do that again, and i’ll break your fucking fingers, motherfucker,” you warn. “you just slapped me!” “and you called me a whore twice, subong! i wonder how the fuck i was ever friends with you! you’re a hypocrite!” he steps closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “don’t fucking talk to me like that!” “and i told you many times not to fucking point your finger at me!” you yell, shoving his hand away harder this time. so hard his arm jerks back. “who the fuck do you think you are?! you can’t fucking judge me when you’re the one who—”

his patience snaps. he grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the wall. it hits with a loud crack, rattling from the impact before toppling over. you flinch, but you don't back down. “real fucking mature.” “you don’t fucking get it.” “why do you even care, huh? you have plenty of other girls to fuck, don’t you?” you spit. “so why the fuck does it matter who i’m with? why is it a problem when you do the exact same shit?” he doesn’t say anything. fine. you’re done here. you reach for the door again, shoving past him. “i’m leaving—” “i lied.” his voice stops you cold. slowly, you turn back, brows furrowing. “what?” he swallows hard. “i lied about it. there was never another girl.” you stare at him in disbelief. “i just—i said that shit to piss you off. to make you hate me. but i never—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i never touched anyone else when i was with you.”

your mind spins, struggling to piece together what he’s saying. he’s lying again. he has to be. “you expect me to believe that?” your voice is defensive. “i don’t give a fuck if you believe me,” he snaps back. “it’s the truth.” your throat tightens. there’s something in his eyes, something desperate, something you’re not used to seeing. “why?” he hesitates. his lips part, then press into a thin line. “because i—” he exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to look at you again. “because i love you. i’ve—” “don’t fucking lie to me, subong.” frustration flashes across his face. “i’m not lying, okay?! i’ve—” “sure as hell you aren’t.” “jesus—can i fucking talk?!” you huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching it. but you don’t interrupt again. you let him speak. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long, and it scared the shit out of me. you were my best friend and i didn’t—i didn’t know how to do it. how to be with you without fucking it all up.” you shake your head, gripping your arms tighter. “you can’t just say this shit and think it fixes everything,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you loved me, and you never told me. you preferred this… this shit between us rather than just… being fucking honest. you—” your breath shudders and you stop to breathe for a moment. “you’re confusing me, subong.”

he sighs. you can see it in his eyes—the regret, the pain, the anger at himself. then, he steps closer. his hands find your face, fingers gentle as they cup your cheeks. his thumbs move carefully, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling. his touch is soft—so fucking soft it almost breaks you. you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in your throat. you shouldn’t let him do this. shouldn’t let him hold you like this, shouldn’t let yourself sink into the warmth of his hands. but you do. because it’s him. “i’m sorry, baby” he murmurs, his breath warm against your face. “fuck, i’m so sorry.” his voice is lower now, and when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you—his brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his hands steady on your face. “i swear to god, i didn’t.” “but you did.” “i know,” he whispers. “i was a fucking idiot.” his thumbs still trace slow paths along your skin, like he’s trying to ground himself in the feel of you. you try to look away, but he won’t let you. his grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm—just enough to keep you there. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his brows furrowing deeper, like it physically hurts him to admit it. “no matter what i do—it’s always you.” “don’t—” “it’s the truth,” he cuts in, his hands sliding down to your jaw, his fingers just barely brushing your neck. “i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep thinking about you. every fucking song i write is about you. every stupid little thing reminds me of you.” you shake your head, blinking back tears. “stop it.” “i can’t,” he breathes. “i don’t know how.”

he leans in slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours. “tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll go.” your heart pounds so hard it hurts. he’s so close… and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s daring you to push him away, makes something snap inside you. before he can say another word, you grab his shirt and yank him down, crashing your lips against his. subong freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping at your waist as he kisses you back just as hard. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s backing you up, walking you straight into the wall. the impact makes a sharp gasp escape you, but he swallows it down, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth moves against yours.

then it happens—your breath catches, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. he stops. his lips hover just over yours, his chest rising and falling against you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you. “are you okay?” you don’t answer. instead, you pull him back in, your fingers curling around the back of his neck. you kiss him harder, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you pour everything you can’t say into this. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back before pressing his forehead to yours. “tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips. in a broken whisper, you finally say it. “i need you.” he’s been waiting to hear that. for months, it’s been the only thing on his mind—you. every time he got high, every time he tried to flirt with someone else, every time he told himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. but it was all a lie. because you did. you always did. and now you’re here, in his arms, needing him. and he’s so fucking mad at himself for wasting all this time, for pushing you away, for pretending he didn’t want this when you’ve been the only thing he’s wanted.

that’s all it takes. he’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours. he walks with you, never breaking the kiss, his fingers pressing into your sides, guiding you until your legs bump against the edge of a small table. before you can steady yourself, his hands move to your hips, helping you up until you’re perched on top of it. his lips leave yours, dragging along your jaw and your neck. one hand slides up, fingers curving over your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. the touch alone makes a soft moan slip past your lips. he swallows the sound with another kiss, deep and greedy, before tugging your shirt up, his palms skimming your skin as he pulls it over your head. his other hand moves with purpose, working the clasp of your bra. the second it falls away, his mouth is on you. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you. “gonna make you feel good, baby,” he promises, his breath hot on your skin as he switches to your other breast, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you squirm. his free hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease before slipping between your thighs. you spread them instinctively, your breath hitching when his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re so wet for me already,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

subong takes his time peeling your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your knees, your ankles. once they’re gone, he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down at the same agonizing pace, his lips following their path. he tosses them aside without a second thought. then he’s on his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as the cool air hits your skin, making you shiver. “let me show you how sorry i am, yeah?” you nod slowly in response. subong leans in, his breath hot against you, and you bite your lip, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. and then his tongue is on you, licking a long stripe up your center, parting your delicate folds, exploring your wetness. you gasp when it finds your clit, your hands flying to his purple hair as his tongue swirls around it in slow circles. “f-fuck, yeah, right there,” you whimper, and he hums against you in approval.

he focuses all his attention on it, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it gently into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he applies gentle pressure. you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, then two, curling them upwards and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. his tongue never leaves your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and you can feel that familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. your hand travels to the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek as he works you. moans grow louder, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. “subong—” you try to speak, but the words die in your throat—the pleasure too strong. he smirks, feeling you tightening around his fingers. “that’s it, baby” his voice is muffled against you. “cum for me.” and you do, your back arching, knuckles white from gripping the side of the table, a cry tearing from your throat as you fall apart. his mouth never stops, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re boneless, panting.

you try to catch your breath as he stands, pulling you into him, his mouth claiming yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. your fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. he shudders under your touch, muscles tensing before he exhales, letting you lift the shirt over his head. it falls somewhere behind him as your hands roam his chest. this isn’t like before. like the other times you’ve had sex. there’s something different in the way his fingers brush your skin, in the way he watches you like he’s afraid to blink, afraid to miss a second of this. you reach for his waistband, tugging at it, and he lets you, his breathing uneven as he watches your hands work him free. his pants and boxers slip to the floor, and he steps out of them, never once breaking contact.

“do you… do you have a condom?” you ask quietly. he stills, his hands resting on your hips as he looks at you. his brows pull together slightly. “no,” he admits, then asks, “do you?” you shake your head. “no.” “shit,” he exhales, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you can tell he’s frustrated—not at you, but at the situation. “it’s… it’s okay. we don’t need one,” you add softly. his head snaps back up. “you sure?” he asks, and you nod. “i want to feel you.” your words are the confirmation he needs. he grabs your thighs before pulling you closer to the edge of the table, spreading them apart to find room between them. his raw tip presses against your clit and you take a deep breath when he starts grinding against you, his stiff dick sliding across your wet slit. you both moan at the feeling, but nothing compares to the gasp that escapes both of your lips the moment he slides inside of you.

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust to the feeling, his hands holding you in place as he sinks in deeper, stretching you around him. you try to steady yourself, holding onto the side of the table with one of your hands again. his breath is uneven, and each slow, measured thrust makes you ache for more. but then his pace shifts. his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back and thrusts in harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, mixed with your breathless moans and his ragged groans. when you meet his gaze, his brows are furrowed, his lips parted. you can see it all written on his face: how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting, how badly he’s yearned for you. he looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s afraid he won’t last because you feel too fucking good. “fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, his fingers flexing against your hips. “i missed you s-so fucking much…” his words cut off in a groan, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing to yours as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time. “i missed this… mmm… missed this pretty pussy of y-yours.” he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to claim you, like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else who’s ever touched you—muttering curses under his breath like he’s punishing himself as much as he’s fucking you. your nails scrape down his back, leaving red streaks in their wake, and he groans at the sting, at the way you cling to him. “fuck, baby—” he gasps, voice rough. “was he better than me? tell me,” he demands, his thrusts turning brutal, each one punctuating his words. “did he—did he fuck you like this? mmh? shit… did he make you cum like i-i do?” there’s anger in his voice. not at you—at himself. for waiting too long, for not telling you the truth when he had the chance, for letting someone else have you. you shake your head in response. his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “answer me.” “n-no!” you whimper “he… he didn’t, baby. only you—mmph!—only you make me f-feel this good.”

his grip on your chin tightens for a second before he releases you, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat instead. not squeezing, just holding—just feeling you. his pace doesn’t slow, if anything, it gets rougher, like your answer wasn’t enough to satisfy the anger. “that’s right,” he grits out, sweat slicking his skin. “he could never…he could never fuck you like this.” his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you, making you cry out. you hold onto him, and he loves it—loves feeling you claim him the way he’s claiming you now. and fuck, he needs this, needs to remind himself that you’re here, wrapped around him—that you’re his. “look,” he mutters, commanding. “look how fucking g-good you’re taking me.” your breath hitches as your eyes drop, and fuck—seeing it is different. watching the way his dick disappears inside you, the way your body clenches around him, the way he’s completely buried in you, over and over again… “see that?” he pants. “you were made for me. this was fucking made for me.” his hand moves again, sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles. “shit—subong!” you let out a broken moan. “y-yeah… fuck, yeah, just like that!” a whimper slips from your lips when subong fists your hair, tugging your head back up until your eyes meet his again. “say it,” he practically pleads. “say that you're mine.” “i-i'm yours!" you gasp, your voice shaking, your whole body trembling from the intensity of him. “i'm fucking yours…mmm… always been.” “i’m yours too, baby.”

his thrusts grow frantic and his breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts. all he can hear is the sound of his name falling from your lips in desperate, breathless moans. he swears he’s never heard something as beautiful. you can tell he is close, holding you in place as he leans over you, his forehead pressing against yours. your body tenses, your gummy walls clenching around him, his fingers still pressed on your clit as he pounds into you, making it impossible for you to hold back. your body tenses, and your free hand clings to the back of his neck with desperation as you kiss him, trying to muffle your whimpering. “gonna cum for me, b-baby?” he whispers, pulling away for a moment. “gonna—mmh! gonna cum on my cock?” you can’t even nod. his words are like a spark, and you can’t hold it back anymore. your body snaps, the pleasure flooding you. “subong!” you cry out, legs shaking. he watches you, his name on your lips, and the sight of you completely undone drives him to the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he follows you, quickly pulling out, his release spilling into your lower stomach. his face contorts, a strangled gasp escaping him as he rides out his own climax. he stays there for a moment, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin sticking together. “i love you,” you whisper, hands running through his messy hair. “i love you too, señorita,” he smirks, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning in to give you a small peck on the lips. “i missed you.”

subong is a good boyfriend. or at least he tries to be. he still messes up sometimes, still says things without thinking, still gets into fights he shouldn’t, but he’s trying. you see it in the way he waits for you after work, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to play it cool, but you know he’s been standing there for a while. in the way he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, even though you never asked him to. you see it in the way he always grabs an extra drink when he stops by the convenience store, handing it to you without a word, like he just knew you’d want one. in the way he texts you did you eat? before he even says hello. in the way he always grumbles about carrying your bag when it looks too heavy, but takes it anyway. in the way he lets you steal his hoodies, rolling his eyes when you show up wearing one but never actually asking for it back. you see it in the way he lets you mess with his hair, even when he pretends to hate it. in the way he looks at you, like he still can’t believe you’re his. in the way he says your name, soft around the edges. in the way he tells you he loves you—not just with words, but in a hundred different ways, every single day.

there’s no confusion anymore. no second-guessing, no wondering where you stand with each other. he wants you, and he’s not afraid to say it. he tells you all the time, in every way he knows how. sometimes it’s casual, like when he looks at you in the middle of a conversation, something soft in his eyes, and says, “you know i love you, right?” like he just needs you to know. and then there are times when he’s shameless about it. like the time he made it his entire mission to embarrass you in front of both of your friends, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning as he declared, “isn’t my girlfriend the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen? no offense to you, semi.” there’s a beat of silence before half of them go “what?!” while the others just exchange knowing looks. “wait—dude, since when?!” namgyu asks. “oh, come on,” semi scoffs, rolling her eyes. “like we didn’t all see this coming.” subong just smirks, pulling you a little closer, dropping a kiss to your cheek. he’s here, and he’s yours, and he makes sure you know it.

you’re still best friends. you still laugh until your stomach hurts, still steal food off each other’s plates, still shove at each other like you’re kids. except now he kisses you after. or before. or sometimes instead of shoving you back. he’s still stubborn, still gets on your nerves more than anyone else. he’s not perfect, but he never pretends to be. and maybe that’s what makes it feel so easy. there’s nothing to prove, nothing to question. just the two of you, exactly as you are, exactly as you’ve always been. just you and him.

if you’ve read this far, i love you, let’s get married pookie ong

[timidollie]

warm on a cold night

pairing: nam-gyu x reader summary: you and nam-gyu go to the arcade :] warnings: this is all fluff, meant to take place before the games, established relationship, nam-gyu is normal yayyy, only warning is for me pushing my badtz-maru agenda, not proofread! w/c: 6k a/n: went to an arcade a few days ago and have, in fact, found a way to make it about nam-gyu.

i know it's in there somewhere, your love for me is out there.

the air was cold, brisk, and the wind was just strong enough to bite through your jacket, weaving through the pockets of warmth trapped beneath the thin cotton to press microscopic kisses of ice into your skin.

you narrowed your eyes against the chill, pulling the pathetically light fabric of your jacket tighter around yourself, as if it'd do anything to stop the cold from slicing right through the measly layers of fabric ghosting over your body.

nam-gyu let out a puff of air next to you, slightly amused. you were brisk-walking, desperate and determined to make it to your destination quickly. nam-gyu's gait was relaxed, calm, almost bored, three of your shivery, frantic steps equalling one of his.

you brought your shoulders up to your ears, curling in on yourself, but it didn't do much to help.

next to you, dressed in a long sleeve and a thick hoodie, nam-gyu let out a sigh.

"cold?"

you grunted, not meeting his eyes.

"no one made you wear that, you know," he said, eyes flicking over your body. "this is what happens when you don't listen to me."

"i didn't think it was gonna be this cold." you don't dignify the second half of his statement with a response.

a snort. "'course you didn't."

you rolled your eyes.

after a moment, he looked up to the sky. "honestly, do you ever think?" he added, fake curiosity in his voice.

"you're so mean," you shot back, glaring at him out of the corner of your eyes. "we're almost there, anyways, it's fine."

a minute of silence passed, save for the faint chattering of teeth, and then suddenly he was unzipping his hoodie and draping it over your shoulders in one fluid motion. it smelled faintly of smoke and his cologne. you blinked up at him, surprised that he didn't just let you suffer for the rest of the journey to teach you a lesson.

you felt warmer already, but you couldn't let him know that.

when you didn't say anything, he raised an eyebrow.

"wow. no 'thank you', huh?"

"i don't want your stupid hoodie." you did.

"yeah? then give it back."

you sped up, clutching it tighter around your body as you pushed your arms through the sleeves and pulled the hood over your head. "no."

he smirked behind you, letting you speed past him in the borrowed warmth as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

when you stopped in front of the entrance, nam-gyu visibly stiffened, his expression guarded. the arcade was alive with sound and color, laughter and digital jingles seeping through the windows and settling into his bones. a preview of what was in store for him tonight. the neon signs lining the entrance hummed with energy, casting a multicolored glow over the two of you. a smile spread over your face as you took it in. nam-gyu grimaced.

you reached for his sleeve as he came to a stop beside you, tugging him inside, but he stood rooted in his spot, hesitating at the threshold.

you looked up at him, and he was nothing short of unimpressed.

"you're not serious," he said, eyebrows going up. "this is where you wanted to go?"

you huffed. "hey, you agreed to this," you reminded him, tugging him forward yet again.

"i agreed to go out, not do some kiddy shit."

"sucks for you, 'cause it's too late," you said, a hint of annoyance creeping into your voice, but it didn't last long. despite his moaning, you knew this night would end with the two of you in the arcade, whether he liked it or not.

you tugged again, and this time, he didn't protest, reluctantly letting his body tumble through the entrance.

the wind whistling in his ears was quickly replaced by the din of the arcade, a mixing pot of dings and beeps and electronic music. a current of energy flowed through him as he quietly surveyed his surroundings. it's loud, packed. racing games, shooters, rhythm games, and claw machines lined the walls. he frowned at the funky patterns in the carpet beneath his feet.

you led him through the place despite the fact that you barely knew where you were going. he let himself be pulled along in silence. soon, you were in line, waiting patiently to buy a game card.

"what are you doing?"

"i need to buy a card," you responded, not looking at him.

he narrowed his eyes at you but said nothing in response as the line inched forward.

"god, there are so many damn kids here," he muttered as he crossed his arms.

"that's what happens when you go to an arcade, nam-gyu." you smirked at him. "maybe they can teach you something about having fun," you teased.

he grumbled something under his breath as the line progressed. you started to step forward, but then there was a hand on your shoulder, warm and firm as he pulled you back.

"nam-gyu!" you whipped around to glare at him, effectively knocking his hand off of your shoulder. "if you don't wanna play so bad, then don't! i'm gonna buy a card for myself—"

he groaned, throwing his head back as he fished in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

you watched him with narrowed eyes, both confused and annoyed with his behavior as his fingers flitted through his wallet, searching. you opened your mouth to protest again, but he quickly shut you up, pushing a sleek, black card against your chest.

"here," he said gruffly, eyes narrowing as you plucked it from his hand.

there's a gold stripe running across the front, and you bring it up to your face to read it. platinum club card.

your mouth fell open as you jerked your head back up to look at him. he'd shoved his hands into his pockets, tapping his foot as he looked off to the side.

your lips twitched, a grin stretching slowly across your face.

"you're an arcade nerd?"

his whole face twitched. "no."

"you have a platinum club card, nam-gyu."

he scoffed, offended. "i don't use that shit anymore," he said, voice clipped and indignant, going up slightly in pitch with something that you guessed was embarrassment. he tried to sound indifferent, but it came out too quick, too defensive.

you bit your lip, holding back a laugh. nam-gyu's eyes flitted from the floor, to the entrance, and then back to you. he looked like he was one word away from running out the door.

"but, you did, right? before?"

his jaw was tight as his mind clawed for a way out of the conversation, but all he could manage in response was, "i'm not... a nerd." he scrunched his face up, spitting out the word like it was something dirty. you'd be lying if you said that you didn't find it at least a little cute. "now drop it."

finally, a giggle escaped your throat despite your best efforts. nam-gyu made it too easy and too fun to give him a hard time. "doesn't it take, like, fifty punches to qualify for a—"

"holy shit," he sighed, his hand shooting out to snatch your wrist. he yanked you forward, looking down at you with a glare as he practically dragged you away from the line. "do you wanna play or not?"

you smiled, gripping the card triumphantly in your hand as he took his turn leading you through the maze of colors and whirring machinery.

it turned out, that, despite his grumbling, nam-gyu really wanted to play.

like, really, really wanted to.

he still wouldnt' say it, though. not out loud, at least. he didn't even need to, either, what with the way he practically shoved you towards any game that he caught you staring at for a second too long, his hand buzzing in yours with the barely disguised desire to win.

he'd played it cool at first, following you around lazily with his head tilted down and hands in his pockets once you finally dropped the whole thing with the game card. he pretended to check his phone, absently scrolling through the apps on his home screen as he watched you from beneath his eyelids with a pointed interest.

his eyes traced the path of your stare, waiting with bated breath to see what you'd pick. the second you pointed at a racing game and started tugging him eagerly towards it, it was over.

a switch seemed to flip in nam-gyu. suddenly, he was a machine, and the only thing written in his code was to win—and of course, give you a hard time about it.

"what the hell," you grumbled, the '2nd place' floating gloomily onto your screen for the third time.

next to you, nam-gyu stood up and clapped—for the third time—pumping his fists in the air and whooping loudly. his hair whipped around him wildly with each movement.

you rolled your eyes as he continued to celebrate. "are you seriously gonna do that every single time you win?" you weren't mad at all, far from it, actually, but it was definitely becoming clear to you that he'd had to have clawed his way to that platinum card somehow.

"yeah, actually. i will," he answered matter-of-factly, slightly breathless from his brief, yet animated, celebration as he smirked.

"okayyy," you deadpanned, pushing yourself to your feet.

"what, don't wanna see me win one more time?" he teased behind you.

you pretended not to hear him.

it was impressive how fast his discretion dropped more and more with every win that he was able to tuck under his belt.

you picked a shooter, and he quickly slid into the seat. he leaned forward to take the controller in his hands, and you watched as his fingers slotted perfectly over the buttons like it was instinct. you barely had half a leg on the seat before he was swiping the card and mashing the 'start' button.

you resisted the urge to tease him, not wanting to make him pull away and recede into himself again. not when he was finally starting to let himself have some fun.

he flew through the game like it was nothing, blowing through enemies round after round and getting headshots with a precision that you weren't even sure was necessary for a rudimentary arcade game.

he'd remind you constantly to reload, to pick up the health packs, your ears filling with jargon as he tried to quickly explain how to use the different abilities and when.

"click this button click this button," he urged as he pointed frantically to a hidden round button on the side of the controller. you soon found out that it was a secret power up, and it won you the round.

he grumbled whenever you died.

"again?" he huffed. "you just gotta aim and shoot at them, baby." he was so focused on the game that he barely noticed the rare pet name slipping past his lips. you smiled to yourself quietly as he reached over to grab the card before leaning down to swipe it on the reader like it was muscle memory. he mashed the 'continue' button for you without asking, not taking his eyes off of the screen for even a second.

he celebrated after every round you two cleared, reached over to rub you on the shoulders affectionately between loading screens, shook you enthusiastically whenever you managed to pull through a boss fight on your own while he was still on a cooldown before he could revive.

you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from making a comment on how unknowingly cute he was being. it wasn’t often that you’d see him get this invested in something. you made a few mental notes to force him to go to the arcade with you more often. whatever it took to pull that dopey smile and those stupidly adorable looks of accomplishment out of him.

it wasn’t long until the two of you’d finished the game. honestly, it wasn’t something you could see yourself going out of your way to play again, but seeing him happy made it worth sitting through. nam-gyu clapped you on the shoulder, shaking you enthusiastically from side to side as he celebrated your shared completion of the game.

he moved closer to you, pressing a quick peck against your hair that made your face warm.

“you’re so welcome for carrying you through that,” he said, his tone playful.

you rolled your eyes but smiled nonetheless. “ohhh, my hero. thank you so much,” you replied, giggling as you slid out of your seat to find your next target.

he just laughed, sliding quickly out of his own seat to follow you. you reached out to your side without looking at him, and his hand found yours instantly, your fingers lacing together tightly as you walked in tandem. there was a little bounce in his step now, eager, excited. he didn’t pretend to look at his phone. he was having fun.

you paused on your way to the rhythm games when you caught sight of the claw machines. nam-gyu raised an eyebrow at you as you pulled him along.

“oh my gosh,” you gasped, hands going up to press against the glass. “they have badtz-maru!”

“the hell is that?”

you pointed at the plush penguin in the machine, its eyes half-lidded and grumpy. “him. badtz-maru. he’s a penguin!”

nam-gyu didn’t seem to care. at all. his eyes wandered over to the rest of the arcade. “uh-huh.”

you blinked at him, eyes going back and forth between him and the plush sitting in front of you. you smiled. “he looks like you.”

he gave you his attention again, eyebrows going up with minimal interest at your statement. he turned to the machine and leaned in, eyes flicking over the plush lazily before turning to meet your eyes. “fuck no, it doesn't. it’s ugly.”

“no he’s not,” you said quickly, offended. “he’s cute. and grumpy.” you leaned into him to nudge at his chest. “just like you.”

“yeah, okay.” he turned away, clearly itching to move on. he wet his lips and shot you a quick glance. “these things are rigged. you know that, right? you’ll just end up blowing all our credits if you try and win that thing.”

you rolled your eyes but turned away from the machine regardless. “i know. i wasn't gonna try and get him. just wanted to point him out." you crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed by his indifference. "i like him, that’s all.”

he brushed you off, hands finding your shoulders as he pushed you forward. “good. plushies are dumb anyways. they just take up space.”

“they’re not, but okay,” you huffed, only slightly offended by his statement. “and you do look like him.”

he said nothing as you shook his hands off your shoulders and continued to walk towards the rhythm games. he paused for a second behind your back, shooting a look at the claw machine over his shoulder and making a mental note of its location before quickly speeding up to catch up with you.

nam-gyu lit up as you wandered past the various different machines, all spewing flashes of color and a cacophany of high-energy music and rhythmic dings. he bit his lip to keep from grinning, eyes trained on the back of your head as he watched you intently for your next move. he shoved his hands in his pockets, urging himself to lay off of you while you chose your next game.

you didn't really care which one you played. you picked the one with the cutest mascot on the front, quickly taking your place in front it and swiping your card before gliding your hands over the various multicolored buttons as you sped through the tutorial.

easy enough.

the first ten seconds had been a breeze. a smug grin slipped onto your face. you could feel nam-gyu's eyes on you, flicking between your face and the screen. his face was neutral as he leaned against the side of the machine, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you.

soon enough, though, the screen was a chaotic blur of color and light, icons flying past you rapidly in a steadily increasing flurry that became increasingly difficult for you to keep track of as the screen flashed with various messages of TOO EARLY! TOO LATE! in relentless, mocking red letters. your confidence wavered significantly as your eyes and brain struggled to stay on the same page.

suddenly, you were unsure if choosing 'hard' mode for your first time was the right decision, after all. your fingers fumbled over the buttons, mashing them frantically in a way that made some sort of semblance to you, but to anyone watching—nam-gyu, for one—was comparable to the grace of a fish out of water.

"wow," he said slowly, leaning forward. he squinted at the screen, nodding slightly as if there was anything there for him to analyze beyond the fact that you'd somehow found a way to miss every single beat. "you're, like, actually terrible."

you furrowed your brows, trying to block him out as you continued to struggle through the song. you were just about ready to smash the screen when you felt nam-gyu scoot closer.

he whistled. "damn. you really do suck."

"i know—" you started, brain short-circuiting as you desperately tried to claw your way back to a passing score, but before you can finish, you felt his hands find their way to your shoulders, rubbing you in what you assumed was supposed to be encouragement, but all it did was throw you off even more, if that was even possible with how horrible your score was already.

"nam-gyu!" you hissed, ready to find a way to blame your failure on him.

before you can say anything more, nam-gyu's body is pressed against your back, warm, firm. he didn't ask, didn't give you a warning, just stepped forward.

"move," he muttered, as if he wasn't practically boxing you in.

he leaned against you, arms slipping around you as his hands settled over yours to guide you over the buttons. his chest was warm against your back, his long hair brushing your shoulder as he leaned in even closer, effortlessly hitting every beat. for some stupid reason, it made your heart stumble a bit.

the shift was instant. as soon as nam-gyu stepped in, the game flowed smoother, notes clicking into place with a satisfying, rhythmic precision. his fingers worked quickly, effortlessly keeping up with the beat, and you barely register the fact that he's using your hands to do it.

you're too distracted.

by him.

by the way his face, usually so smug and teasing, smoothed into something else entirely—concentrated, sharp. his brows knitted together, his lips parted slightly. every time a particularly fast section appeared, he bit his lower lip just enough for it to sink between his teeth. the flashing neon lights from the screen cast streaks of color over his face—blue, pink, red—highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his dark eyes flicked rapidly between the notes on the screen, not once needing to look down at the buttons he was pressing.

and god. he was actually good at this. you thought you'd be annoyed the second he stepped up and took over without warning, but it was a little hard to when your heart was busy doing stupid little somersaults in your chest.

he didn't seem to notice the way you were heating up in front of him—or if he did, he didn't seem to care. his focus was entirely on the game. his fingers flew over each button in time with the song, hitting them all with a quick precision. he's completely in control, guiding your hands like second nature. the rhythm sped up even more, and instead of panicking, nam-gyu leaned into it. his long, dark hair falls forward slightly, strands brushing against your cheek as he titled his head just enough to see better.

you let your eyes stray back to the screen, blinking as you silently took in the warmth of him around you, the closeness. it was a blur as the notes continued to move past in dizzying flashes.

"you're really into this huh?" you murmured, trying to sound unaffected.

his lips twitched, but his focus didn't break. "obviously," he muttered. his voice is lower than usual, smooth with concentration. "somebody has to make sure we don't embarrass ourselves."

the game reached its climax, and for a moment, it's all movement—his fingers, your fingers, the press of his body against your back as he leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto the screen with unwavering intensity. and then—

the screen flashed, and soon a bold, colorful 'A' was bobbing up and down on your screen. the game exploded into bright, colorful victory lights, and only then did nam-gyu finally step back, letting out a satisfied huff, unbeknownst to the thoughts swirling through your head.

"there," he said, stretching his fingers like it was nothing. like he hadn't just hijacked your game and your personal space. he crossed his arms over his chest, a satisfied smirk coming over his face as he looked at you. "it would've been a perfect score if i'd done it myself, but you know. i did what i could with what i had."

you raised an eyebrow at him. "you really couldn't just let me learn?"

he let out a puff of laughter. "not when it was that painful to watch." he clapped a hand on your shoulder, hand trailing up to your neck to play with the loose strands of hair there. his smirk returned, smug and playful. "so. wanna see me play one more?"

you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"and if i said no?"

"well, then i'd call you a liar." he pushed forward, spinning you around to face the screen as he positioned your hands over the buttons again, his fingers resting gently over yours. you bit back a smile as you reveled in the closeness once again. he leaned down, resting his head on your shoulder as he hummed, flitting through the different songs. "maybe you'll be a little less terrible on 'easy' mode, hm?"

time seemed to pass slower in the arcade. the music, the lights, the way the two of you were genuinely having fun—no drugs or alcohol involved (wow!)— it was just too easy to get lost in. the two of you had shuffled between various rhythm game machines, although it did nothing but prove to the both of you that you were utterly terrible no matter which one you played.

he stifled another laugh, hiding his smile behind his hand as red text flooded the screen.

MISS! TERRIBLE! TOO EARLY! TOO LATE! UHH... ARE YOU SERIOUS?

"i don't like this one," you mumbled, eyes narrowing as your mouth twisted into a scowl. "why's it being so damn mean?"

"dunno." he rubbed at his nose, still smiling. "but it's kind of funny." he stretched his arms above his head, his long sleeves pulling back slightly with the movement. after a pause, he added, "i need a smoke."

you blinked, turning to him, the game forgotten for a moment. "what? you're ditching me?" you pouted, but he was already reaching into his pocket, his shiny platinum card dangling between his fingers.

"not ditching. just—temporarily leaving."

you're about to tell him he's stupid, but then, without looking at you, he reached down and swiped the card against the reader—once, twice, three times. you hear the electronic 'ding' of the credits loading in.

your eyes narrowed. "did you just—"

"keep yourself busy," he interrupted, already turning away, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "try not to suck so bad while i'm gone."

you rolled your eyes especially hard this time, considering he'd decided to grace you with nine songs with the meanest rhythm game you'd ever had the displeasure of playing. "gee. thanks."

he only responded with a lazy flick of his wrist as he walked off.

but he didn't actually head for the exit. didn't have his cigarettes on him, even.

instead, once he'd made sure you were distracted with a few careful glances over his shoulder, he veered towards something else entirely—the row of claw machines that you'd stopped him at earlier. and more specifically—

that damn badtz-maru plush.

it sat behind the glass, smug little frown stitched onto its face, eyes half-lidded—looking almost smug, judging. judging him. sitting there stupidly like it owned the damn place. stupid. ugly. dumb. completely unnecessary. and yet, when nam-gyu's eyes landed on it, he clicked his tongue, pausing, hesitating, for just a second before he was glancing around quickly to make sure no one was watching, as if he was about to commit some sort of crime.

god, he hated himself for this.

but whatever. he was already here.

with a sigh and a slow grinding of his teeth, he swiped his card.

he steeled himself, leaning forward as his hand took hold of the joystick, the other hovering, twitching over the button. he felt like an idiot.

needless to say, the first attempt was absolutely terrible.

the claw barely even gripped the plush before it slipped right back into the pile. nam-gyu groaned, rubbing his temples as his head snapped back, hair whipping with the sudden movement. he cursed under his breath. "stupid piece of—"

a few nearby kids looked over. he exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. forced a smile.

see, the problem wasn't him. it was the machine. obviously. these things were fucking rigged. but if there's one thing nam-gyu hated, it was losing against something that he should be able to win against. he paused, suddenly hyper-aware of how worked up he was getting. he straightened himself, hands going up to his hair to tuck it behind his ears as he glanced carefully from side to side, making sure that no one had seen him.

why the fuck was he doing this again?

then, your face bubbled to the forefront of his mind—your big, dark eyes looking up at him, all starry and shiny and excited as you pointed. the way your hands pressed up against the glass, tugging him forward with that dumb smile on your face. he looks like you.

man. he hated this shit.

and yet, here he was, swiping his card again.

and again.

and again.

people came and went, barely sparing him a glance, but nam-gyu stayed glued to the machine, stubbornly maneuvering the joystick in between his fair share of frustrated smacks to the glass whenever he failed, which was growing to be quite a considerable amount.

his hair fell into his face as he leaned forward again, eyes icy and wide with an iron focus as he bit the inside of his cheek and lined up his next move.

he refused to walk away empty-handed. refused to let the machine win. refused to let this stupid, dumb, useless, ugly penguin win against him. him. no, he wouldn't let it happen.

he took a deep breath, stepping back for a moment to tuck his hair behind his ears again, roll up his sleeves that kept falling down. he leaned over either side of the machine, checking the position of the claw from every single possible angle before shakily closing his fingers around the joystick again, gripping tightly as his other hand twitched against the button—big, red, and mocking.

he stared at the plush, and it stared right back at him. nam-gyu's eye twitched, his lip curling into a vehement sneer as he leaned in closer still, jaw tight as he whispered, "you're mine, asshole."

next to him, a young couple quickly and quietly ushered their kid out of the aisle.

finally, he slammed the button with far more force than was necessary. the claw descended. nam-gyu watched it with bated breath, his body completely still as his eyes followed its path, down, down, down...

when the claw finally closed around the plush just right, his heart jumped, but he forced himself to stay cool, watching as the mechanical arm dug into the plush, sinking into the soft fabric like it was a marshmallow, and draggeddd badtz-maru towards the prize slot.

it was so, so slow.

nam-gyu could feel every second in his bones.

the moment it dropped into the chute, he exhaled sharply, shooting up and straightening like a steel rod. his fingers curled under his chin, covering his mouth, suppressing the stupidly satisfied grin threatening to spread over his face.

fuck. that felt good. dangerously good.

he stared for a moment before he squatted down slowly, carefully, still holding his breath, as if he still couldn't believe that he'd finally—fucking finally—got this stupid, dumb, ugly, useless, pathetic, waste of space penguin out of its cage.

his hands shook as his fingers sunk into the plush, yanking it out with a smug satisfaction as he stood back up. he held it in both hands, staring intently into its eyes.

he'd done it. won him. shown him who the fuck was boss. dethroned him.

he stopped fighting it and let a grin spread over his face as he shoved it under his arm like it was no big deal, turning back towards where he left you.

he'd got it.

and on the first try, too!

as far as you'll know, anyway.

when nam-gyu strolled back into the rhythm game corner, he found you stationed at the rhythm game he'd so graciously loaded up for you. you were in the middle of struggling through a song.

your face was twisted in deep concentration, lip caught between you teeth as your fingers twitched furiously over the buttons. nam-gyu noted the 'normal mode' in the top right corner. he suppressed a snort, wanting to watch you for a bit longer. he leaned against a nearby machine, observing.

you didn't even notice him, teeth gritting behind your lips as the FAILED SONG message flashed across the screen.

you groaned dramatically, shaking your head in frustration as you stepped back, hands going up to tangle in your hair as you slumped forward. "this game is so rigged."

nam-gyu scoffed. "no, you just suck ass."

your head snapped up towards him. "you're back already?"

he shrugged, casual. like he wasn't sweating through his shirt. like he hadn't come back from fucking war. "what, miss me?"

"sure," you said, a smile coming to your face as he approached you. you're about to tell him he reeks of smoke, to stay away from you, but you quickly notice that there is no smell. you raise an eyebrow, eyes flicking over his face. then, your gaze drops for a second, scanning him up and down, and then—

you frowned.

your eyes zeroed in on his arm. specifically, the black plush tucked beneath it, its cute, grumpy face staring up at you.

you blinked. once. twice.

and then your lips curled into a knowing grin.

"oh my god," you said, dragging the words out in delight. "you won it? for me?"

nam-gyu clicked his tongue, shifting the plushie slightly. he looked off to the side, feigning ignorance. "huh? what are you talking about?" he said, hand going up to rub smugly at his chin as he soaked up all the glory. he sucked in a slow breath through his teeth and pretended not to notice how excited you were getting, how your eyes lit up at the sight of him and this stupid penguin. he pretended not to notice how fast his heart was beating beneath his shirt. he pretended not to notice how much he liked it, too.

you wrapped your arms around it, and he wordlessly let it fall from his grip into yours. badtz-maru's marshmallow-like body spilled out between the gaps of your arms as you squeezed it tightly. he decided to pretend not to notice how much he liked that, either.

"the claw machine was right there. thought i'd give it a shot."

"and?"

he smirked. "and i won it." he flicked a hand through his hair. "first try."

you busted into laughter, eyes narrowing as you grinned. "oh, bullshit. there's no way you got him first try."

nam-gyu raised an eyebrow, glaring at you. "i did."

"nopeee. i don't buy it." you stepped closer, eyeing him up and down, amusement twinkling in your eyes, mixed in with gratitude. but you weren't done giving him a hard time yet. "be honest—how much did you waste trying to get it?"

he exhaled through his nose again, lips pressing into a thin line. "nothing. i told you. i won it first try."

"oh, so if i check the arcade balance right now, then—"

his eye twitched. you saw it.

"you're so predictable, nam-gyu," you laughed, rocking back on your heels.

he clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes as he tucked his hair behind his ears. "whatever. believe me, don't believe me. i know i won that stupid thing first try, so who gives a shit." he shoved his hands into his pockets.

you hugged it harder, leaning into him slowly as you pressed your whole body weight into him. "you like me," you teased. "real bad."

he groaned. "here you go with this shit." he turned away from you, eyes scanning lazily over the rest of the arcade as if trying to subliminally get you back to playing games.

"you like me so much you went and spent all your money trying to win me something i wanted."

"first try," he muttered, scowling.

you looked down at the badtz-maru in your arms, warmth coursing through your body as you imagined him standing in front of the machine, trying and trying, determined to get him just for you. you looked back up at him through your eyelashes, a smug smile on your face.

"and you were being so mean to him, too." you pushed the plush up in his face. he glared down at you, frowning. you snickered. "wow. you really do look just like him," you teased, your other hand going to fumble for your phone. "stay just like that, i wanna take a picture—"

you're cut off by his hand tightly gripping yours. he doesn't wait for a response before he's tugging you forward. and now, he's the one leading you.

"c'mon. let's look at the other claw machines so we can waste more money," he grumbled, not looking at you. his black hair fell over his face, obscuring the light dusting of pink on his cheeks. "whatever it takes to get you to shut up."

you grin up at him, squeezing the plush tighter with a little, knowing smile. "thank you, nam-gyu. i really like him."

his eyes flicked to yours briefly, and something in his expression softened. just a little. just for a second. then, just as quickly, he looked away, eyebrows going up.

"yeah, yeah, you're welcome." he said it quickly, like he didn't want you to think he was serious, didn't want you to think he really gave a shit about the plushie.

but you notice the way his fingers lingered in his pockets, as if fighting the urge to reach for another game, another challenge.

you caught him staring at the plush in your arms a few times, though you politely pretended not to notice. when you needed to go to the bathroom, you shoved it into his chest.

he stared at it as he waited, took one of its little black flippers into his hands. looked into its grumpy eyes, inspected the black spikes lining its head.

he raised an eyebrow.

damn. maybe it did kind of look like him.

he waited patiently for you to step out of the bathroom, tapping his foot with a hand shoved into pocket and trying to appear as casual and cool as one could with a gigantic penguin tucked under their arm. once you were in range, he smiled, slowly reeled back a fist, and punched badtz-maru right in the face.

he laughed as you snatched it from his arms, brows furrowed as you angled it away from him.

maybe, just maybe, he was having way more fun than he'd like to admit.

© to @namgyunation on tumblr; do not repost

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: the arcade in this fic is based off of round 1 bc i went to one a few days ago lolol, just in case that helps paint a better mental image! i wanted to write something short and fun while simultaneously pushing my nam-gyu badtz-maru agenda bc he's my fucking favorite i'm sorry... also it's nearly 4am as i'm posting this so forgive any typos again!!! this was supposed to be out valentine's day but that clearly did not work out haha, so it's a bit rushed, but i hope it's enjoyable nonetheless :) alsoooo here's the badtz-maru plush in question LMAOOO. i own this thing irl so ofcccc i had to project it onto nam-gyu.

[timidollie]

coloring in namgyu’s tattoos hcs!!

warnings: tattoos (?) implied reader x namgyu, takes place outside the games!

a/n: got this inspiration from tiktok (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) i hope this isn’t a flop LOL

when you first tell namgyu that you want to color in his tattoos, he gives you a look that screams ‘what the fuck?’

he mulls over it for a few days and you completely forget about it until he brings it up again

“so you wanted to use me as your personal coloring book, huh?”

lowkey cringing at your excitement as you pull out a pack of cheap waterproof markers with a giddy smile on your face (he secretly finds it cute but will never let you know that he does)

reluctantly lays his arm out and watches as you select the colors

when you lean in closer to him, his breath hitches in his throat and he can feel his heart beating faster.

“is this okay?” you’ll ask him after, you first touch the marker to his skin. he thinks it’s ticklish, but when you ask him with an expression mixed with concern and happiness, he finds it hard to say anything except “it’s fine”

as you concentrate in filling in the lines, he can’t help himself from scanning over your face. the way your eyes squint in concentration, how your tongue absentmindedly pokes out a little, how your hair is tucked behind your ear to give you a clearer vision

when you rest your hand on his arm to keep him still, he savors the warmth of your fingers and secretly thinks of grabbing your hand but always decides against it

surprisingly enough, namgyu is completely silent. passes the time by watching the strokes of your hand. this is the most patient he’s ever been

as you chirp out an “all done!” he brings his arm closer to his face, looking over your work. tells you that it looks fine, but when you’re not looking he secretly takes a photo of it

when you two go out for dinner later, he purposely picks out a t-shirt that shows off his tattoo

when he showers, he tries his damn best to not wash it off, wanting your imprint to last as long as it can

if thanos notices, he brushes it off saying “yeah, it’s whatever.” deep down, he basks in the closeness of the time spent together

when the marker ink fades, you’ll send him a pout alongside an “aww, it washed off”

imagine the shock on your face when namgyu shrugs and says “just color it in again. you can do that, right?”

he says that with the most nonchalant expression, but there’s a certain warmth in his tone and eyes that you can spot

coloring in his tattoos slowly becomes one of his favorite things to do together. he doesn’t have to think about having a conversation, you get to do something fun, and you both get to share another level of closeness that nobody else but the other can have. truly a win-win situation!

thanks for tuning in!

[timidollie]

pathetic bf!seunghyun (headcannons) ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

summary: bf!seunghyun who is incredibly down bad for his gf.

an: hello! this is my first fic on this account, im so excited to share it with you. i hope you enjoy <3 (ALSO, please ignore any spelling/grammar errors i didn’t proofread.)

bf!seunghyun who: didn’t care for love/relationships until he met you.

bf!seunghyun who: swears carless whisper by george micheal played in his head when he laid eyes on you for the first time.

bf!seunghyun who: likes to spend his down time making you playlists and/or writing you songs/raps. he likes to communicate through music.

bf!seunghyun who: calls you sweet girl and thinks it fits perfectly. you are his sweet girl. he thinks youre the sweetest, most angelic being hes ever met.

bf!seunghyun who: will agree to just about anything for your sake (“yeah i dont know, i just dont really feel like going out today” he mummered to jiyong, burying himself further into the fluffy cloud that was his bed, dead set on spending his night curled in bed. until you walked into the room. “seunghyun, lets go out tonight, i need to get out of this house.” seunghyun shot out of bed, unraveling himself from the covers and intertwined your hands, “yeah, sweet girl, lets go.” suddenly alive and full of energy. unaware of jiyong snickering behind him.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely believes he cant go more than an hour without having his hands on you in someway. wether that be his hand in yours, his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers curled in your hair, or his fingers inside, yes inside the waist of your jeans, resting against the warmth of your skin.

bf!seunghyun who: when you two sleep has to either be little spoon or lay on top of you (while you scratch his back.)

bf!seunghyun who: is only comfortable with you touching him

bf!seunghyun who: literally calls/texts you every chance he gets. in between recordings, while in the bath, while getting his hair done. he’ll text you every thought that crosses his mind. (itll be three in the morning and youll get a text from him like, “i just realized, nothing is ON fire. fire is on THINGS.”)

bf!seunghyun who: does things for you he knows you can do yourself, such as, brushing and drying your hair after a shower, carrying you from place to place in your shared apartment, brushing your teeth, grabbing things that are just out of reach, tieing your shoes, no matter how much you insist you’re perfectly cable. he cant help it; youre his angel.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely tears up when you get mad at him (you immediately feel horrible and give in.)

bf!seunghyun who: loves to lay his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair (he falls asleep immediately.)

bf!seunghyun who: hangs onto every word you say. he’ll remember something you vaguely told him months later. (“hey, sweet girl, i got you one of those sun…sunny…sonny..angels…whatever you call them,” he said when he came home from the store, placing the sonny angel box on your lap, then, planting gentle kisses onto the corners of your lips, your nose, your temple, your eyelids. you smile, wondering how the hell he knew you wanted one. you giggle, placing your hand on his cheek and rubbing your thumb across his soft skin as he leans into your touch, “how’d you know i wanted one?” he looked at you as though the answer was obvious, “you mentioned it when you saw a tiktok video in..may” may was 8 months ago?)

bf!seunghyun who: apologizes by getting on his knees, putting his head in your lap, and kissing your hands profusely. muttering over and over how sorry he is and how he’ll do better.

bf!seunghyun who: follows you around everywhere like a little cat. always hovering over your shoulder. if you guys are sitting on the couch and you get up to get a glass of water, trust, he’ll get up and go with you with a content smile on his face. he has attachment issues.

bf!seunghyun who: when your making out and you pull away, looks at you, breathing all hard, like he physically needs more.

bf!seunghyun who: when he has to travel for work will send you a poem a day. (“hey, sweet girl, you will never be unloved by me. you are too well tangled in my soul; hello, my sweet girl, my heart is so full of you i can hardly call it my own. love you always.”)

bf!seunghyun who: is completely obsessed with you.

[timidollie]

SNEAKING AROUND.

word count: 1,289

pairing: in-ho x you.

summary: you can’t seem to leave your father’s friend alone, thoughts of him filling your mind with nothing but sick fantasies. luckily for you, in-ho’s got you in his sights too, and he’s more than happy to make those thoughts come true.

cn: 18+, huge age gap (reader is 18+ and in-ho is 54), dbf!au, sneaking around, creampie, pervert in-ho

a/n: gosh ……… writing inho is like a drug to me, once i start i just cant stop

was gonna post this sooner but had to proofread, so let’s just say i waited to post this on inho’s bday ^_^ happy bday to this old geezer

—-

“I like your watch,” you said, smiling up at In-ho.

“This old thing?” he chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced down at it. “This watch is older than you are, sweetheart.” His tone was light, but the implication beneath his words sent a shiver through you.

You tilted your head, pretending to be surprised, your curiosity laced with something darker. “Oh, really? That old?”

He laughed softly, his gaze lingering on you a second longer than it should’ve. “Had it since I was in my twenties. Now…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a faint smirk tugging on his lips. “I’m fifty-four. You do the math.”

You did, and instead of feeling any discomfort, you felt the opposite—an attraction that made your stomach flip. God, this was so wrong, but you couldn’t help yourself. The way he carried himself, the confidence, the way his voice dipped just slightly when he spoke to you—In-ho had you absolutely hooked.

Before you could respond, your dad called him over, pulling him back into the fold of conversation with the other men. You couldn’t hide the pout on your lips, the frustration at being left alone again.

In-ho noticed. Of course, he did. Before he moved to join the group, he leaned in close, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment. “I’ll be back soon, princess,” he whispered, his voice low enough for only you to hear. Then, before you could even process his words, he glanced around and placed a quick kiss on your lips, causing your breath to hitch.

Before you could even blink he slipped away, leaving you standing there, cheeks flushed and heart racing. You couldn’t help but giggle softly to yourself, already counting the seconds until he returned.

Amidst the crowd and bustle of your father’s work party, your attention kept wandering back to In-ho. The way his eyes followed you, dark and hungry left you feeling weak in the knees. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you, the intensity in his gaze burned into your every move.

In-ho wasn’t subtle, either. Every chance he got, he let his hands find you—fingers brushing along your waist, sneaking lower to rest dangerously close to the round curve of your ass. His touch lingered, just enough to send shivers down your spine and leave you craving more.

And then there was the way he “accidentally” pressed himself against you as he squeezed past in the crowd. His body was firm, his touch purposeful, and it left you reeling. You couldn’t breathe, the heat in your core pooling unbearably, forcing you to excuse yourself. You rushed to the bathroom, desperate to find some sort of relief from the ache he had been building with every teasing touch, every searing look.

Naturally, In-ho had his sights on you the entire time. His sharp gaze tracked your hurried steps, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched you disappear into the bathroom. He didn’t wait long before following, slipping inside and locking the door behind him.

It was all a blur after that. One moment, you were alone, and the next, his hands were hooked beneath your thighs, pulling you flush against him. Your mind went blank while his voice, low and dripping with filth—spilled against your ear. The words barely registered, lost to the sensation of him grinding behind you, each syllable a ghost of sin against your skin.

He had you like that for a while, before lifting you easily, pinning you against the cool tile wall as he snapped forward, filling you to the hilt in one rough thrust of his hips. You gasped at the intrusion, your head falling back against the wall as he wasted no time pounding you.

The sensation was overwhelming. His pace was relentless, each thrust hitting spots that had you dizzy, the world spinning around you. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he buried himself deeper into your heat. You bit down on your lip, desperate to stay quiet despite the overwhelming pleasure ripping through you.

“In-ho—! Feels so good—” you moaned breathlessly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

He groaned in response, his breath hot against your skin. The low, guttural sounds he made sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your cunt. He inhaled deeply, taking in your scent like a man starved. “So sweet,” he murmured against your neck, his voice thick with lust. “This cunt was made to take my cock. So fucking good, baby.”

Your walls clenched around him as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and you couldn’t help the high-pitched whimper that escaped. Your nails dug into his sleeve as you fought to keep yourself steady, the heat pooling low in your belly threatening to consume you entirely. “Mmf—Daddy!” you cried out suddenly, the word slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Clearly, that did something to him. Because you felt his cock throb inside you, his rhythm faltering for a moment just for his hips to snap forward, even rougher than before. His breath came out in a low, almost ragged rasp as he processed what you’d just called him.

“Daddy, huh?” he teased, pulling back just enough to look at you. His dark eyes were blown wide, the usual cold stoicism replaced by something primal and unhinged. “That’s what gets my little angel off? Dirty girl,” he chuckled, the sound dripping with mockery and lust. “Does my sweet little girl get off on the thought of daddy taking care of her? Like getting fucked by someone old enough to be her father?”

The filthy words sent a shiver down your spine, your head falling back against the wall as a loud moan escaped you. His hand darted up, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging harshly, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

“Answer me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, yes!” you cried, your voice trembling as he pounded into you harder, each thrust pulling another gasp from your lips.

“Yes, what?” he pressed, his grip on your hair tightening as his teeth grazed against your neck.

“Ah!—Love it, need daddy to take care of me,” you whined, your words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

A dark, satisfied grin spread across his face as he pressed a kiss to your temple. His hips slammed into you with renewed fervor, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with possessiveness. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so well. Fuck—what would your father think if he saw you like this? His precious little girl, getting her needy pussy stretched out by his old friend.”

The thought alone had you unraveling, your walls clenching around him as your orgasm tore through you. Your entire body was trembling as he fucked you through it, the overstimulation sending shockwaves through your core.

In-ho wasn’t far behind, his thrusts turning sloppy and more erratic. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you down onto him while he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loudly as he came.

By the time you rejoined the party, your cheeks still flushed and your legs weak, In-ho was already back in the crowd. He stood by your father, laughing and chatting like nothing had happened. Sharp eyes flicking to you for just a moment, a smirk tugging at his lips. the bastard. Acting like he hadn’t just fucked his friend’s daughter senseless in the bathroom, and acting like he doesn’t have her dirty panties tucked in the back pocket of his slacks to serve as his personal little trophy.

[timidollie]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐌 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐎, no i wouldnt do a thing like that.

PAIRING, cho sangwooxf!young!reader.

WARNINGS; dead dove, p in v, younger reader, reader is gi-huns adopted daughter, this is shitty i just woke up, spanking, sneaking out, punishment

WORD COUNT; 1,425

The night air was crisp against your skin as you slip through the streets, the neon lights of Seoul painting the pavement in hazy colors. Your heart pounded with excitement, the thrill of sneaking out pulsing in your veins. It’s not like you were doing anything terrible—just meeting some friends, maybe going to a bar or two. But if Gi-hun saw what you were wearing, he’d probably have at least two heart attacks.

Gi-hun took you in when you were young, a girl from a troubled family who was hopping from house to house a lot of the time. He was like a father to you.

You adjusted the low rise jeans, showing off your pink little thong, almost making it to the main road when a voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You froze, your stomach dropping.

Slowly, you turned, already dreading what you’d see. And there he is, standing under the glow of a streetlamp, arms crossed over his chest, watching you like you’re a misbehaving child instead of a college student who can make her own choices.

“Sangwoo,” you said with an awkward laugh, trying to act like this was no big deal. “I was just—”

“Going out,” he finishes for you, his eyes narrowing as they sweep over your outfit—skimpy jeans, tight top, all the things Gi-hun wouldn’t approve of. He exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple like you were giving him a migraine. “Like that?”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not a fucking little kid.” Who was he to tell you what to do? Sure, he was your dad’s friend but… well, maybe he was in the right.

“No, but you’re still under Gi-hun’s roof.” His voice was calm, but there was no room for argument. “And if he saw you like this—” He shook his head, already over it. “You’re still in college goddammit. Get in the car. Now. And stop swearing at me.”

You groan, dragging your feet as you make your way over. There’s no point in arguing—you’ve already lost. The car ride back is silent, Sangwoo’s jaw tight, his fingers tapping against the wheel like he’s trying to keep himself from lecturing you.

The second you step inside, you know you’re in trouble.

Gi-hun is pacing the living room, running a hand through his hair like he’s already exhausted. The moment he sees you, he stops. His eyes flick to Sangwoo, then to you, then down to what you’re wearing.

“Where the hell were you?” His voice isn’t sharp—no yelling, no immediate anger—but it’s the disappointment that makes your stomach twist.

“I was just—”

“She was sneaking out,” Sangwoo cuts in, his voice void of any sympathy. Prick. “Dressed like that.”

Gi-hun lets out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N.” He says your name like it physically pains him. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”

You shift on your feet, arms tightening around yourself. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big—” Gi-hun laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. He shakes his head. “I can’t do this right now.” His eyes flick to Sangwoo. “You handle it. Do whatever you think is best.”

Your stomach drops.

“Wait—”

But Gi-hun is already grabbing his jacket, muttering something about fresh air before he walks out the door, leaving you alone.

With Sangwoo.

You swallow hard, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know why he lets you get away with so much,” he says, his voice even, but firm. “Back in my day, if I had pulled something like this, I’d have been disciplined properly.”

Your skin prickles. “I’m too old for that, you prick,” you mutter.

Sangwoo raises an eyebrow. “Not in my eyes.” He sat down on the couch, manspreading just a little. “Bend over my knee.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.” What in the world was he thinking?

“I am.” There’s no hesitation in his voice, no room for argument. “If you don’t want to respect the rules of this house, you’ll learn another way.”

Your jaw clenches. Your fists tighten at your sides.

You glance at the door, but there’s no escape. Gi-hun left Sangwoo in charge, and if you defy him, it’ll only make things worse. Heat floods your face as you shuffle forward, your stomach twisting in humiliation as you made your way over to him, looming just above him.

He looked up at you, and then down at your waist, your thong clenching into your sides. God what he wouldn’t give to take that off. “Jeans off.” He muttered, sighing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You laughed, mostly in disbelief.

But he wasn’t joking. “You heard me.” You didn’t listen, just stood there, mouth wide, not knowing what to do.

“Don’t make me do it for you.” His voice was harsh, as he straightened up against the couch.

So, you slowly unbuttoned the jeans, letting them drop as you stepped out of them. “This is so fucking weird.”

He couldn’t smirk, not in-front of you, but it took everything in him not to let out a little sign of content as he saw your pretty ass in that thong.

“Good girl. Now bend over.” He ordered, eyes burning into you.

After you stood there for a little while longer, he got impatient, pulling you down himself, a little more harsh then need be.

The strikes weren’t hard—just enough to sting, just enough to remind you that in his eyes, you’re not as grown as you think you are.

Weirdly, you found a heat pooling in your stomach, his calloused hands massaging the skin of your ass with each hit.

You squirmed a little, growing wet with every minute. And you knew he’d noticed.

“What’s this?” He whispered, dragging his fingers to the cloth over your pussy, making you jittery. “Pretty little girls getting wet over an old man punishing her?”

You didn’t reply, too embarrassed to say a word. “Answer me.” He sighed, dragging a finger over the wet clothing.

“Mm.” You mumbled, eyes closed. You wriggled a little, trying to get some damn friction between your cunt and those fingers.

He let out a laugh, a laugh of mockery, letting two of his digits slowly rub your pussy as he mumbled something under his breath.

It didn’t take long before you were bent over the sofa, completely bare and humiliated, letting the man pound into your young cunt, his fingers rubbing your clit with precision.

“Such a little slut, making me stretch you out like this. Your dad could walk in any minute you know? And see you like this, all pretty and moaning for me.” He murmured into your ear, slowing the pace.

With each thrust you let out a cry, his big size stretching you out just right. “So tight.” He mumbled. “So fucking tight for me.”

Your face was pushing down into one of the cushions, his hand gripping your hair, shoving you down more.

“Be quiet. Be a good whore and stay quiet. You should be glad I found you in that alley dressed like a skank and not someone else, they wouldn’t have been so kind.”

His thrusts became more sloppy, his breathing heavier, and you could tell by the way his dick twitched inside you he was close.

“Good girl. Gonna fill you up. S’that good?” He was mumbling in your ear, trailing kisses down your neck, he knew this was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t have tried anything. But, gods, you were so perfect and sweet for him.

With one last tiny whimper, he snapped his hips into you once more, holding you down by your neck. Bastard. You didn’t even get to come, but he filled you up, biting down on your shoulder, leaving a mark.

“You tell your dad. I won’t be so lenient on everything else i’ve seen you do.”

Fuck. That could mean anything. The drinking, the drugs, the boys. How long had he been watching you? And now, as he traipsed hickeys down your back, you stayed silent, and nodded.

When he finally let you up, you wipe at your eyes, though you’re not sure if it’s frustration or embarrassment making them sting.

“Go to your room,” Sangwoo says simply. “And next time you think about sneaking out, remember this.”

Your throat burns with words you don’t say. You don’t look at him as you storm off, slamming the door behind you.

Behind you, Sangwoo exhales, rubbing his temples. He knows you hate him for this.

But someday, he hopes you’ll understand. You were just so perfect.