sulebari

[sulebari]

sg men x reader and aphrodisiac chocolate?? 🫠

Chocolate

Pairing: Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-il

Thanos

It started with a chocolate truffle.

You’d found it at the bottom of a gift box Su-bong had won in some weird staff lottery. He didn’t even like sweets.

“I’ll trade you this for those instant noodles,” he said, wiggling it in your face.

You snatched it instantly.

You should’ve asked more questions.

Because now?

Your skin was burning.

Your thighs were clenched.

And Su-bong was watching you from across the bunk room with a growing look of concerned panic.

“You okay?” he asked.

You swallowed.

Hard.

“Yeah. I’m—hot.”

His brows knit. “Like fever-hot or… other-hot?”

You stared.

And then whimpered.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Was that that weird chocolate they were joking about?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The one they said was, uh—‘energy-enhanced.’ Like… adult energy.”

You slowly lowered yourself to the mattress. “Su-bong.”

“Yes?”

“You just fed me a f*cking aphrodisiac.”

Five minutes later, you were a mess.

Sweaty, flushed, thighs soaked through your thin shorts. Every breath felt like it brushed nerve endings you didn’t know you had.

You curled into yourself, face hot.

Su-bong sat beside you, bouncing his knee in full panic mode.

“I didn’t mean to drug you!” he said, voice cracking. “I thought it was just fancy chocolate! Like rich people stuff! Not—sex magic!”

You groaned, squeezing your thighs together. “Stop talking.”

“I can’t, I’m nervous!”

You reached for him—blind, desperate. Grabbed his shirt.

And dragged him down to whisper in his ear.

“If you don’t shut up and do something about it, I’m going to hump this pillow until I cry.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

A pause.

Then, in a voice ten times lower:

“Okay.”

It was like flipping a switch.

One second, Su-bong was stammering.

The next, he was on his knees between yours, mouth on your thigh, fingers tugging your soaked shorts down.

“I’ve never—” he whispered, breath shaking. “But I want to. I really want to.”

You nodded, breathless. “Please.”

He spread you open with trembling hands.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

You moaned as his lips met your clit—hesitant at first, then obsessed, lapping like he was starving.

The aphrodisiac made every flick of his tongue feel like a live wire. You bucked, cried out—already close.

And he just kept going.

"You're twitching so much," he breathed, voice muffled against your heat. “You're making these sounds—I can’t—”

You came hard on his tongue, your legs locking around his shoulders.

But he didn’t stop.

“Too much—wait—Su-bong—!”

But he was gone. Lost in it.

“Need to taste it again,” he mumbled, licking you through your second orgasm like it was his only purpose in life.

You were shaking by the third—legs quivering, mind blank, the chocolate still pulsing in your bloodstream.

When you finally tugged his hair back and gasped for mercy, he looked wrecked.

Lips shiny.

Eyes wild.

Cock hard and tenting his pants.

“Can I—fuck—I need to feel you,” he groaned. “You’re so hot—I think I’m gonna combust—”

Namgyu

(reader originally had the chocolate in her bra, hence why she has it in the game)

You only had one piece left.

One tiny square of chocolate smuggled deep in your jacket, traded from a guard with no morals and a sweet tooth. You’d planned to savor it tonight—maybe with Namgyu if he asked nicely.

Instead?

He found it first.

“Mm?” he mumbled, already chewing, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, is this real? This is so good—”

You turned around just in time to see him swallow it.

And you blinked.

“…Namgyu. Where did you find that?”

He grinned, chocolate-smudged lips. “In your pocket.”

“No—shit—that wasn’t normal chocolate.”

He blinked at you. Paused.

Then frowned. “Wait. What do you mean it wasn’t—”

😳 10 Minutes Later

It started slow.

A deep blush. Sweating. Fidgeting.

Then his eyes got glassy.

His hand kept tugging at the front of his uniform pants.

“Are you hot?” you whispered, looking around. The bunkroom was nearly empty.

“I-I dunno—just—” He squirmed, sitting weird. “Feels like my blood’s boiling. Everything's tight. I—my pants—I swear they shrunk—”

Then his eyes flicked to you.

And stayed there.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “You smell... really good.”

Your heart dropped.

“Namgyu,” you whispered, grabbing his arm, “You ate aphrodisiac chocolate.”

His eyes widened.

“Oh.”

Then: “Oh no.”

He followed you to the back corner of the bunkroom like a dog in heat.

Literally.

You sat on the lower bunk, trying to assess the situation, and Namgyu immediately dropped to his knees between your legs.

“Gyuuuu,” you hissed, shoving his shoulders. “You’re burning up.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “My whole body’s buzzing. And I—fuck, I keep thinking about your thighs.”

You choked.

“My what?”

He buried his face in your lap.

“Your thighs,” he whined. “They’re so soft. I just wanna... grind on them.”

You froze. Absolutely stunned. Entirely, shamelessly aroused.

Then he moaned.

Actually moaned.

His hips rutted forward, slowly, the heat of him pressing between your legs as he rubbed himself against your thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I can’t stop—please don’t hate me.”

“Holy shit, Namgyu—”

He whimpered again.

You let him.

You shouldn’t have—but god, you let him.

He climbed into your lap, legs straddling one of yours, arms around your shoulders. Every time he rocked his hips, the bulge in his pants pressed right against your thigh—hard, twitching, so fucking needy.

“Y/N,” he gasped, nuzzling your neck. “It hurts. I’m so hard, I—I think I’m gonna come—”

“You haven’t even taken your pants off—”

“I know,” he moaned.

You cupped his face, made him look at you. His cheeks were blazing, eyes glossy, lips bitten raw from trying not to sob.

“You need help, baby?” you whispered.

He nodded, grinding again.

You let him.

You held his hips, let him hump you like he couldn’t breathe otherwise—rubbing himself raw, desperate for friction.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come, I can’t—”

“Do it,” you whispered. “Come in your pants, baby.”

And with one more thrust, he did.

He collapsed against you, panting, damp and trembling.

“I think I ruined my underwear,” he muttered into your shoulder.

You smiled, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead.

“You definitely did.”

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

You kissed his cheek.

“Next time, though?”

He peeked up at you.

“Ask before you eat my snacks.”

Gyeong-seok

Somehow, you and Gyeong-Seok end up hiding out together post-Games in a shitty little one-room apartment.

No money. No escape. Just each other. And a stolen box of fancy chocolates left on someone’s doorstep. (“Don’t ask how I got it,” he mutters. You don’t.)

You split one in half and bite in.

It hits fast. Warmth. Need. Low in your gut.

Then your thighs start rubbing together, and your nipples ache under your shirt, and Gyeong-Seok… won’t meet your eyes.

Because he’s feeling it, too.

Hard.

🍫 Five Minutes Later

“You okay?” you whisper.

He nods once. Then again. Sharper.

But his eyes are blown wide, his jaw clenched, and when you shift where you sit, his head snaps toward you like a predator scenting blood.

“…What was in that chocolate?” you whisper, breath hitching.

“I don’t know,” he growls, “but I need to leave. Right now.”

He starts to move. You grab his wrist.

“Please. Don’t.”

He freezes.

Your fingers curl around him. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

He turns—slowly. Controlled. Barely.

And you see it.

The bulge in his sweats. The flush in his cheeks. The tremble in his fingers.

“Shit,” he mutters. “This is—”

You press your body against his.

And he breaks.

The kiss is teeth and tongue and heat. His hands cup your ass, lift you to the counter like you weigh nothing. His lips devour yours, rough and frantic, like he’s been starving for months.

Maybe he has.

“You smell—fuck—you smell like sugar and sweat,” he groans, voice shaking as he pushes your thighs apart.

“Do you wanna stop?” you ask, panting.

His jaw flexes. “I want to stop.”

Then his hand dips into your panties.

“And I can’t.”

🖤 Gyeong-Seok Unleashed

His fingers are thick and fast, curling up inside you like he’s mapping out your weak spots.

And then he finds it.

You scream.

“I knew it,” he mutters, darkly amused. “You get loud when I hit that spot.”

“Please—don’t stop—”

“Couldn’t if I tried.”

His mouth replaces his hand. Tongue hot, desperate. He eats you like it’s the only way to cure the fire crawling through his skin.

Your legs shake. He doesn’t stop. He can’t.

His hands are shaking, cock straining against his waistband.

“I need to fuck you.”

“Then do it.”

He takes you hard against the kitchen counter—deep and fast, panting in your neck, his whole body trembling with restraint.

You cry out when he grinds in deep and stays there.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he hisses. “Like your body was waiting for me.”

You clench.

He groans—growls, really—and comes with his hand over your mouth, muffling your moans as your orgasm rips through you like lightning.

He doesn’t stop.

Keeps moving.

Keeps fucking you.

Until the fire starts to fade.

And all that’s left is your name on his lips—and your taste on his tongue.

Later, collapsed on the floor, he runs a hand through your hair.

“That was insane.”

“Chocolate shouldn’t do that,” you mumble.

“Remind me never to eat stolen sweets again,” he groans.

“…Or do,” you add, grinning.

He looks at you.

And then laughs.

Low. Warm. Yours.

Young-Il

You’d found it tucked at the bottom of the supply crate—a shiny little wrapper nestled between protein bars and water bottles.

"Hey," you’d said, tossing it to Young-il. "Looks like someone up there likes us."

He caught it midair, grinning that half-feral grin of his. "Aw, sweetheart, is it Valentine’s Day already?"

You unwrapped yours. Popped it into your mouth.

It was good. Shockingly good.

Too good.

You blinked.

Then shifted.

A slow, molten warmth unfurled in your stomach.

Young-il watched you chew, tilting his head. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you lied, squirming as heat built low and slow between your thighs. “Just… warm.”

He smirked. “Cute.”

Then popped his into his mouth.

Ten minutes later, the room felt hot. The kind of hot that makes you peel your jacket off, then your long-sleeved shirt, until you’re left in a tank top that suddenly feels too tight.

Across the room, Young-il was shifting too—cracking his neck, loosening his collar, dragging his fingers through his hair with a clenched jaw.

You made the mistake of glancing over.

His eyes met yours.

Something snapped.

“Okay,” he said slowly, voice like smoke. “What the fuck was in that chocolate?”

You swallowed. Hard.

“I… I don’t know.”

He took one step toward you. Then another.

By the third, you backed into the wall behind you, heartbeat jackhammering.

“You’re flushed,” he murmured.

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well…” His voice dropped. “Pretty sure I’m hard as a rock and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your breath hitched.

“Young-il—”

His hands slammed on either side of your head, caging you in.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, nose brushing yours. “Because if you don’t—if you moan when I kiss you—I’m going to ruin you.”

The kiss is feral. Teeth and tongue and hunger. His hands are in your hair, dragging your head back. He bites your lip, sucks the sting away, and mutters, "Fucking sweet… everything about you is sweet—"

Then he drops to his knees.

Yanks your pants down with a frustrated growl.

“I should take my time,” he mutters. “Lick you slow. Make you beg.”

You whimper as his fingers stroke up your inner thigh.

“But that chocolate? Baby…” He presses a kiss over your soaked underwear. “It made me starve.”

And then he eats.

Fucking devours you—tongue lashing, teeth scraping, lips sucking until your knees buckle and your hands claw at his shoulders, begging for more.

When you finally come—shaking, crying his name—he looks up, mouth soaked, eyes black with lust.

“Your turn,” you whisper hoarsely.

He grins.

“Now you’ve really got me hard.”

[sulebari]

haiii I love ur gi hun fanfics! Could u mayhaps do one that’s inspired of the s3 trailer gi hun? Maybe the reader sticks with him while he’s handcuffed during voting and maybe some dry humping smut 👅

Stay with you

pairing: Gi-hun x female!reader rating: 🔞 NSFW (18+) | smut (dry humping), angst, kink word count: ~2.2k tags: season 3 trailer-inspired, one-hand-cuffed Gi-hun, dry humping, desperate grinding, emotional tension, voting scene, power imbalance, comfort kink, mutual pining

content warnings: mentions of game violence (canon setting), consensual non-penetrative smut, emotional vulnerability, intense eye contact, restraint kink

The room is emptying around you.

One by one, they vote.

Blue or red.

Stay or go.

Gi-hun is still handcuffed to the metal bedframe—one wrist locked in place, body hunched against the cold steel, eyes flicking up as each person walks by without looking back.

But not you.

You pause at the voting machine.

Fingers trembling.

His eyes catch yours.

“Go,” he says softly, voice raw. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not leaving you.”

You press the blue button. Not to continue, but to keep him.

Then you turn back.

And walk toward him.

He’s slouched, one arm awkwardly pulled by the chain, legs bent on the mattress. His other hand is braced behind him—but when you crawl into the bunk, he stiffens.

His breath catches.

“…What are you doing?” he asks, voice tight.

You straddle his thighs slowly, deliberately. His free hand twitches but doesn’t move to stop you. His eyes track every inch of your face.

“I’m staying,” you say quietly.

His throat bobs.

His cuffed hand rattles softly.

“You shouldn’t.”

But he doesn’t move.

Not when you lean in. Not when you settle against the hard line of his cock under those scratchy uniform pants. Not when you grind your hips in one slow, deliberate circle.

He groans. Low. From the chest.

“Fuck—don’t—”

“Don’t what?” you whisper. “Don’t make you feel something? Don’t make this real?”

Your lips brush his jaw. “Too late.”

The grinding starts soft—just the heat of you over him, fabric on fabric. But soon, you’re rocking against him, gasping against his neck.

Gi-hun’s fingers grip the mattress so hard they shake.

He can’t touch you.

Can’t pull you closer.

But god, he wants to.

“I can feel how hard you are,” you whisper, breath hot on his skin. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about in here?”

He exhales shakily, forehead pressed to yours.

“You have no fucking idea.”

You slide down his lap, grind again—this time with pressure.

He whines. His eyes shut. Head tipped back.

You grind harder.

"Fuck—please—"

"You want to come like this?" you ask, teasing.

His hips buck. "If you don't stop, I’m going to."

"Good," you whisper.

Because you want him ruined. Shaking. Powerless but desperate.

You're both panting now—dry humping like desperate teenagers in a hell you can’t escape. Your underwear is soaked. His cock is painfully hard. And when he suddenly gasps, biting back a moan as his hips jerk one last time—

He comes.

Hot and heavy in his pants, teeth clenched, forehead pressed to yours.

Ashamed.

Breathless.

So fucking relieved.

His hand rattles in the cuff again.

"Please," he whispers. "Touch me."

You cup his face gently. Press a kiss to his temple.

"I'm right here."

You stay in his lap, cradling him through the quiet.

The votes are done.

But you?

You're not going anywhere.

He may be chained.

But so are you.

To him.

[sulebari]

thank you for keeping us fed !! could I please request a gyeong seok breeding kink fic

Fill you so full

pairing: Gyeong Seok x female!reader rating: 🔥🔥🔥

NSFW (18+) | smut, dominance, breeding kink, slight possessiveness, praise, aftercare word count: ~2.3k tags: breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, soft-but-possessive Gyeong Seok, body worship, marking, slight size kink, overstimulation, reader has a womb he wants to claim

content warnings: explicit sex, strong breeding kink themes, mild overstim, slight mating press position

You should’ve known the second Gyeong Seok said “take the pill just in case”—and not a second after—that tonight was going to end with you getting filled to the brim.

Now, you're folded beneath him, thighs trembling, breath caught in your throat, while he grinds deep with that perfect, slow roll of his hips.

“G-Gyeong Seok—ah—”

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice low and fucked-out, skin slick with sweat. His lips press against your ear, his body flush against yours. “Feel how deep I am?”

You nod, barely. But it’s not enough.

“Say it,” he growls, fucking into you again—harder this time. “Say how deep I am in this pretty little cunt.”

You gasp, “S-so deep, I—can’t even—think—”

And he grins. Like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Good girl.”

His hand presses to your lower belly, right where you feel the pressure the most.

“Right here,” he whispers, grinding in a slow, brutal circle. “I’m right here, sweetheart. That’s where your womb is, isn’t it?”

Your back arches. Your whole body pulses.

“Fuck—yes, yes—please—”

His control starts to slip. You can feel it in the way his thrusts get a little rougher. A little more desperate.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” he pants, “Every drop. You’re gonna let me fill you up until it’s dripping down your thighs.”

You whimper—helpless, wrecked—and it only spurs him on.

“Let me put it in you,” he whispers against your neck. “Let me fill your womb. Mark it. Own it.”

And when you finally fall apart underneath him—shaking, crying out, clenching so tight he chokes on a moan—he follows instantly.

Curses tumble from his lips as he spills into you, cock twitching deep, hot and so much that it spills around the base before he’s even finished.

But he doesn’t pull out.

Oh no.

He stays.

Lets you milk every drop while his breath slows and your pulse pounds against his chest.

🫶 Aftercare

Later, he holds you in his lap, your legs spread over his, his cum still leaking down your thighs as he wipes you down with shaking hands.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice softer now. Reverent.

You nod against his chest, smiling dazedly.

“Mm. I might be ruined.”

He kisses your temple. “You’re perfect.”

His fingers dip down, gathering the mess between your thighs. He watches, transfixed.

“I wanna do that again,” he says quietly.

Then his eyes flick up, dark and sincere.

“I want to fill you again.”

[sulebari]

hello there my fav squidgame writer!! can you do a gyeongseok acting like a child asking for another round?😗😗

Another

Pairing: Gyeong-seok x Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Genre: Erotica, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Playful Brat, Aftercare-tinged Teasing

Summary: Gyeongseok should be exhausted. But as soon as you reach for the blanket and pull him close, he wriggles like a restless brat and stares up at you with wide, unrelenting eyes. He wants more—and he’s not above acting cute to get it.

Warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, bratty sub behavior, mild degradation (consensual), D/s undertones, overstimulation (teased), whining

Your fingers trace light circles on Gyeongseok’s back, sweat still drying between your skin and the sheets. You press a kiss to his temple, ready to bask in the calm that always comes after.

But Gyeongseok squirms.

Then he whines.

A soft, bratty, drawn-out sound muffled against your chest. “Mmmn… not done.”

You blink down at him. “What?”

He lifts his head slowly, tousled hair flopping over his forehead, cheeks flushed. His lips are pink and pouty, and his eyes have that wide, dangerous sparkle that always precedes trouble.

“Again,” he says, voice small. “Wanna do it again.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You're serious?”

He nods, biting his bottom lip. “I didn’t get to come on your tongue.”

You snort. “You came twice.”

He wiggles closer, draping himself across you like a clingy cat. “Doesn’t count. That was... before. Now I’m lonely.”

You try not to laugh. “You’re literally lying on top of me.”

He looks up with that same puppy-eyed expression, hips shifting slowly. You feel him—half-hard already, stubborn in his arousal.

“Just one more,” he whispers. “I’ll be good. I won’t even whine this time.”

“You’re whining right now.”

“I’m not! I’m... negotiating.”

You grab his chin, gently but firm, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “You want to be used again that badly?”

He nods eagerly. “Please?”

You smirk. “Brat.”

His smile curves up slowly—sweet, sinful, victorious.

Because he knows he’s already won.

[sulebari]

gyeong seok and his brat gf smut fic pls?

Say Please, Baby

Pairing: Gyeongseok x Bratty!Girlfriend (F!Reader) Rating: Explicit (18+) Genre: Smut, D/s, Brat x Dom, Domestic Kink, Teasing, Power Play Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: Gyeongseok’s girlfriend knows exactly how to get under his skin—and she does it on purpose. All she has to do is keep pushing, keep pouting, keep testing his patience… and she knows he’ll break. He always does. But this time? He doesn’t just break. He punishes.

Warnings: NSFW / MDNI. Dom!Gyeongseok, bratty teasing, consensual power exchange, dirty talk, spanking, face-sitting, use of pet names ("baby," "brat"), light restraint (pinning), orgasm control, overstimulation, aftercare implied.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Gyeongseok growled as he tossed his hoodie aside, eyes locked on the girl stretched across his bed—his girl. In nothing but one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties she was definitely wearing just to get a rise out of him.

Which, of course, she did.

“Aw, what gave it away?” she purred, flipping onto her back and giving him a lazy stretch, legs falling open just a little too wide to be innocent. “The way I said please?” She batted her lashes and dragged out the word like a whine. “Pwease, daddy?”

He froze at that.

She never called him that.

She knew what she was doing.

“Oh, now you’ve done it.”

“Mmm, have I?” Her tongue flicked over her lower lip. “You gonna spank me again, baby? You seemed so into it last time—”

He was on her in a second.

One hand pressing into the mattress beside her head, the other gripping her jaw, tilting her chin up until her eyes widened with something halfway between thrill and fear.

Not real fear.

Just the kind that made her thighs press together and her breath catch.

“You really want to test me tonight?” he said low, voice calm in that dangerous way.

She smirked. “I really want your mouth between my legs, actually.”

He laughed once—dark and sharp. “You are getting spanked.”

“Yay,” she whispered.

Her panties came off fast. His shirt, not so much—he liked her in it. Liked seeing her bratty little mouth beg in something that smelled like him.

“On your knees.”

She blinked up at him from the mattress, pretending to hesitate.

He cocked his head. “Want to try that again, princess?”

She pouted. “Ugh, fine.”

She got up slow, dragging it out, swaying her hips like she wanted to get punished.

Gyeongseok climbed onto the bed behind her, hand pressing into the small of her back until she was bent forward, ass in the air, shirt riding up.

“Count.”

Smack.

“One—fuck,” she hissed.

Smack.

“Two.”

Smack.

“Three, daddy—”

“You better shut your mouth if you want to come tonight.”

She giggled.

He groaned.

This was going to be a long night.

“Lie back.”

She did, but only after blowing him a kiss.

He grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head, and knelt between her legs.

“You’re gonna be quiet now,” he murmured against her inner thigh. “Or I’ll stop.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

He licked a stripe right up her center.

She shut up.

Good girl.

He took his time—teasing at first, licking slow, shallow strokes until she writhed against the sheets. Her thighs trembled, her wrists tugged at his grip, and she whimpered as he didn’t give her enough.

“Gyeongseok,” she breathed, voice breaking.

“Say it.”

She shook her head, bratty even now.

He sucked on her clit hard enough to make her scream—then pulled away.

“Say. It.”

She arched her back, toes curling.

“Please—”

“Not good enough.”

“Please, baby. Please, let me come, I—fuck—I need it—”

That was better.

He gave her everything.

Tongue deep. Mouth slick. Nose pressed against her as he devoured her like it was the last thing he’d ever taste.

She came hard.

Trembling, sobbing, whining his name.

But he didn’t stop.

Not even when she begged.

“Too much—baby—wait, I—!”

“You wanted this,” he said, breath hot against her soaked cunt. “Now you take it.”

And she did.

She always did.

Because no matter how much she bratted…

She always gave in when he really took control.

Aftercare & Ending Snippet:

Later, she was curled up in his arms, sweaty and sore, legs trembling.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Mmmhmm.” She nuzzled closer. “I love when you break me.”

He kissed her temple, laughing softly. “Yeah? Maybe next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

She smirked against his chest.

“Promise?”

[sulebari]

I’M SO HUNGRY I CAN EAT HIM

[sulebari]

waking them up with a bj perhaps? 👀

Morning BJ

character: Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young il, Gi hun, Dae ho, Min su, Sang woo, Gdragon, Daesung, T.o.p, Mingi, San, Namjoon, Yoongi, jhope, Kim seo wan, Roh jae won, Gong yoo

Summary; You give Em a morning BJ

Warnings: Explicit NSFW content, MDNI,

Thanos

The morning light seeps in through the blinds, golden and quiet. The world outside is still asleep, but you’re wide awake, tucked into the warm space beside Choi Su-bong.

He’s sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped loosely over your waist. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, soft breaths brushing past slightly parted lips. The blanket is low around his hips, just barely hiding the shape of morning wood pressing against his briefs.

You smile to yourself.

God, he’s beautiful when he sleeps—unguarded and warm, his usually sharp expression softened into something vulnerable.

Your fingers trail over his stomach, feather-light. His muscles twitch beneath your touch. He stirs, but doesn’t wake.

You dip beneath the covers and let your mouth find the line of his waistband. You press a kiss there, then another, a slow trail leading lower. He shifts again, breath hitching faintly—but still not fully awake.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his briefs and ease them down. His cock springs free, flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip.

You groan softly at the sight, at the thought of him waking to this—to you.

You stroke him slowly at first, just enough pressure to make him twitch in your hand. You lean in and press your lips to the tip, kissing him gently before taking him in, inch by inch, letting your mouth adjust to the weight and warmth of him.

He lets out a low, broken sound.

Your eyes flick up—and he’s awake now, just barely, blinking down at you with dazed eyes and parted lips.

“Babe…?” he rasps, voice rough with sleep.

You hum around him, sending a shiver up his spine.

“Holy f—fuck,” he breathes, hips twitching under your hands. “What… what are you doing?”

You pull back just enough to whisper, “Waking you up properly.”

His head falls back against the pillow, a groan rumbling from his chest. “Jesus, you’re gonna kill me.”

You swirl your tongue around the tip and take him in deeper, slow and steady. He grips the sheets beside him, moaning your name like a prayer.

You keep it soft—gentle pressure, lots of tongue, eyes on him the whole time.

“Shit—baby,” he gasps, “you’re gonna make me—”

You hold him steady as he comes undone, spilling into your mouth with a strangled groan, his body arching off the mattress.

You swallow every drop, then kiss your way up his stomach, chest, and neck until you’re beside him again, your head resting on his shoulder.

He wraps an arm around you, still catching his breath.

“That,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and fond, “was the best wake-up call I’ve ever had.”

You grin against his skin. “Good morning, Su-bong.”

Namgyu

Nam-gyu sleeps like he owns the bed—limbs sprawled, blanket kicked down to his hips, one hand resting on his stomach like he was sculpted there. And you? You’re already wide awake, tracing every inch of him with your eyes like a sunrise worshipper.

Your gaze lingers on the outline of him beneath the sheet. Morning wood, as usual. Not surprising—he’s always half-hard in the mornings, and you’ve made it a private game to see just how long you can stare before giving in.

This morning, you lose fast.

You crawl between his legs, slow and deliberate, until your mouth hovers just above the shape pressing up against his briefs.

Your fingers trail along his waistband, and you glance up to find—

Eyes. Open.

Watching you.

And worst of all—smirking.

"Didn’t know you were such an early riser," he says, voice still thick with sleep but dripping with amusement.

You blink. “You're awake?”

"Was. Barely." He stretches like a cat, slow and arrogant, that smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then I felt your mouth staring at me.”

You roll your eyes, tugging his briefs down anyway. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

He’s already hard, thick and leaking, twitching slightly as the air hits him. Your mouth waters.

You lean down, licking a stripe up the underside.

Nam-gyu groans, fingers curling into the sheets. “You gonna be a tease about it, or…?”

“I was going to be gentle,” you say, lips brushing his tip. “Now I’m reconsidering.”

“Are you?” he murmurs, voice dipped in challenge. “Because I think you're desperate for it.”

You shoot him a glare, but your mouth closes around him anyway, slow and steady. His hips jerk and a hiss escapes him.

Your hands press down on his thighs, keeping him still as you suck him deep, your tongue swirling, your eyes never leaving his face.

He looks down at you like you’re his favorite sin.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” he mutters. “Bet you dream about it. Waking me up with that filthy mouth.”

You hum around him, watching his cocky composure start to crumble. He grips your hair, not to guide, just to ground himself.

But then—

His hand tightens.

And he pulls you off him.

“Wait,” he pants, voice a little wrecked now. “Not yet.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

He leans up on his elbows, eyes dark with something unreadable. “I want to remember this all day. Want to edge on the thought of your mouth on me until I can’t fucking stand it.”

You stare.

He smirks again, smug but flushed. “So unless you want me to come right now and miss out on ruining you later, you should probably stop.”

Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily.

“Or,” you say, breathlessly defiant, “you could come now—and still ruin me later.”

Nam-gyu grins, wicked. “Tempting.”

He reaches down and guides you back, slow and firm, until your lips are against him again.

“Finish what you started, baby,” he whispers. “Let me give you something to taste all day.”

You take him in again—harder this time. Deeper. His moans are raw, his cock twitching on your tongue as he finally lets go.

He spills into your mouth with a ragged groan, hands tangled in your hair, hips trembling.

And when you crawl up beside him, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, he turns to you, eyes hooded.

“I owe you,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “And I always pay my debts.”

You wake first.

The room is still dim, the faintest gray light bleeding in through the window. Outside, it’s silent—too early for footsteps or cars. Inside, there’s only warmth. Gyeong-seok’s warmth, specifically, radiating from the shared bed you still aren’t used to.

He sleeps facing you, his features relaxed in a way you rarely see when he’s awake. There’s a crease in his brow even now, but it’s softer. Less afraid.

You trace the curve of his cheekbone with your eyes, not daring to touch. Not yet.

You’re both shy. Two halves of the same quiet coin. Conversations between you are rarely loud or bold—but they’re honest. Patient. Kind.

Last night, he’d fallen asleep with his arm tentatively draped around your waist. Even that had taken him effort. You know how scared he is to overstep.

But you want him.

And more importantly—you want to give.

Your heart pounds at the thought, but your body moves before your courage can falter. Slowly, gently, you shift under the blanket, until you’re lying just a little lower, face level with his chest. His breath stirs your hair. You inch downward more, brushing your hand across his stomach. He stirs faintly, brow twitching, but doesn’t wake.

Not until your fingers ghost over the waistband of his boxers.

A quiet inhale. Then—

“…Y/N?”

His voice is rough, sleep-drenched. Embarrassed. “W-What are you…?”

You lift your head, face flushed. “I—I wanted to… I mean, only if you want—”

He blinks rapidly, eyes wide, already blushing. “You… I mean, I—do you want to…?”

You nod.

He swallows, throat bobbing. “Okay.”

The blanket is a cocoon as you slip your hand beneath it, tugging down his boxers just enough to free him. He’s already hard—morning warmth, maybe—but it makes your heart flutter knowing he’s reacting to you now.

You lean down, hesitant but determined, and press a soft kiss to the tip. Gyeong-seok’s breath stutters.

“Y/N…”

You pause. “Do you want me to stop?”

His hand finds your shoulder, barely touching. “No. Just… please, slow.”

You smile—small, shy—and nod.

You take him in slowly, only as much as you can handle, and wrap your hand around the rest. Your tongue flicks along the underside, tracing veins like they matter. Because they do—he does. You want him to feel seen. Cherished. Desired, in a way that doesn’t make him flinch.

His hips twitch once, but he forces them still. His voice is barely a whisper.

“You feel… s-so warm…”

You hum around him, cheeks burning at the praise. He moans softly, his hand now resting more firmly on your arm.

“Please… don’t stop.”

You don’t. You keep your pace slow, movements gentle, as if saying I love you with every motion of your mouth. His soft noises get more desperate, trembling. You glance up—his eyes are shut tight, mouth parted, face red to the ears.

“Gonna… I think—Y/N—” he gasps, voice cracking.

You let him finish in your mouth, swallowing around him as he trembles, stuttering your name like he’s afraid it’ll break.

Afterward, you crawl back up beside him and rest your forehead against his chest.

Neither of you speak for a long time.

Then—he wraps both arms around you, pulls you close, and whispers into your hair:

“Th-thank you. I—I didn’t know it could feel like that. Safe.”

You press a kiss to his collarbone. “Me either.”

Young il

You wake to the smell of coffee and silence.

No birdsong. No city noise. Just the thick hush of morning and the low gurgle of the machine brewing in the kitchen.

He’s up, of course.

In-ho’s always up first. Has been for years. It’s part of who he is—disciplined, collected, a man who controls every corner of his world before anyone else even stirs.

You drag yourself from the sheets, the chill of the tile floor biting at your bare feet, and wander toward the sound.

There he is. Shirtless, in loose black lounge pants, salt-and-pepper hair still slightly mussed. One hand wrapped around a steaming mug. The other braced on the counter. He doesn’t hear you at first—so used to being alone in these hours.

You pause in the doorway. Watch him.

He’s 54, carved from stillness and history, and there’s something about the way he stands—owned, grounded, unshakeable—that makes heat spark low in your belly.

Quietly, you pad across the floor and sink to your knees behind him.

He startles slightly at the touch—your hands sliding up the back of his thighs, your mouth pressing a kiss just above the waistband of his pants.

“Mm?” he murmurs, looking down at you, brows raised faintly in sleepy surprise.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you tug his waistband down. Just enough.

He watches you. Always watches—those calculating eyes softened only slightly by time and intimacy. You meet his gaze as you take him into your mouth without a word.

He inhales sharply, knuckles flexing around the handle of the mug.

You start slow, mouth warm, lips plush around the base, your hands braced on his hips. His cock is heavy against your tongue, not fully hard yet, but already reacting.

You hollow your cheeks and moan just slightly. The sound makes him twitch.

“You’re not even awake yet,” he mutters, breath threading tight through his teeth.

You pull back just enough to whisper, “I am now.”

There’s a pause.

Then—he takes another slow sip of his coffee, never breaking eye contact.

“Finish what you started,” he murmurs.

That tone—it’s not commanding. He never has to be. His authority is baked into every glance, every measured breath. It’s always your choice.

But still, it makes your pulse pound.

You take him in again, deeper this time, letting your tongue trace the underside, teasing the tip before sinking lower. His hand slips into your hair—just resting there. Not controlling. Anchoring.

He gets harder in your mouth, slow and steady, his quiet grunts barely audible over the distant drip of the machine.

The tension coils tight.

You feel it in his thighs, in the slight tremble of his abdomen, in the way his hand tightens ever so slightly.

“Fuck…” he exhales, barely above a whisper. “Open wider. Look at me.”

You do. You let him see your face, lips stretched, spit glistening on your chin. You hum around him, and his jaw twitches.

“You’re going to make a mess,” he warns, almost gently. “I’m not going to last.”

You don’t stop. You want the mess. You want to be ruined on your knees before the coffee’s even done brewing.

When he finally comes, it’s sudden—a strained growl torn from his chest, his hips twitching forward.

He spills across your tongue, but you can’t keep up—warm, thick release painting your lips, your cheek, even your lashes. You gasp, mouth open, panting as he twitches one last time against your tongue.

You stay kneeling, chest heaving, face a sticky, glorious mess.

He exhales slowly. Looks down at you like he wants to memorize this version of you forever.

Then—he sets the mug down, leans over, and wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“Come here,” he says quietly. “Before it dries.”

Gi hun

(pre-game gi hun, not morning bj)

He smells like soju and cigarette ash when he stumbles in.

You’re already on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the flickering TV, not even watching it anymore.

Gi-hun kicks the door shut behind him and exhales like he just survived something. Again.

You know the routine. He’ll avoid your eyes. Make a joke. Blame the tracks, or his "bad luck," or some bullshit about needing "one more round" before it’ll all turn around.

You don’t say anything. Not yet.

He finally looks at you, cheeks pink with alcohol, eyes too tired to hold a proper apology.

“I borrowed twenty,” he says. “I’ll get it back next week.”

You flinch.

That was your cab money for work. Again.

He sees it in your face and grimaces like it hurts him too — but not enough to stop.

“You’re mad,” he mutters, sinking onto the couch beside you.

“You keep taking from me,” you whisper.

“I’ll pay you back.”

You both know he won’t.

But you let him lean on you anyway. You always do. His head tips against your shoulder, smelling like failure and the boy he used to be. The one who made you laugh under streetlamps and kissed you like he had nothing else to believe in.

Your throat tightens.

“I miss you,” he murmurs suddenly. His voice is low. Ragged. “The way we used to be.”

Your heart clenches, traitorous and soft.

He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. He doesn’t even ask for it.

But when his hand slips under your shirt, rough and needy, you don’t stop him.

You should.

You don't.

You pull him in instead — straddling him on the couch, letting his hands grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight.

He presses his forehead to your chest.

“I’m so fucking tired,” he breathes.

“I know.”

You push his sweatpants down. No teasing, no foreplay. You just want to taste something that feels real — even if it’s him.

Your mouth finds him hard already, half from the alcohol, half from the heat of your body against his. He moans low, a sound like regret dragged across gravel.

“Shit, baby—fuck,” he hisses, fingers gripping your hair. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t.

Even though your eyes sting. Even though you’re crying quietly and he doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, but he’s too far gone to say anything.

You suck him like you’re trying to swallow the pieces of him you used to love. Your throat aches. Your jaw trembles. But the sounds he makes—low, desperate—keep you going.

When he comes, he gasps your name like it’s a confession. Like he almost means it.

He slumps back, ruined and spent, breathing hard. You crawl into his lap and bury your face in his neck.

He doesn’t say thank you. Or sorry.

But he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight for the first time in weeks.

That’s the part that breaks you.

Dae ho

The sunlight barely creeps through the curtain when you roll over and catch sight of him.

Dae-ho sleeps like he’s bracing for a test — limbs gathered close, brows furrowed even in rest, as though part of him doesn’t trust comfort to last.

But his lips are parted, his face soft, his body warm under the blanket you both share.

You smile to yourself and scoot a little closer, heart fluttering. You don’t want to wake him, not really… but the sight of him, bare-chested and relaxed, stirs something deep in your chest — and lower.

You let your hand glide slowly under the sheet, down his stomach, fingertips brushing lightly over the waistband of his sleep pants.

A soft sound escapes him. His hips shift.

He’s already hard. Morning wood — but it still makes your heart skip. You hesitate, just for a second, then slip beneath the covers and settle between his legs.

When your lips wrap gently around the tip of him, he gasps.

“What—hnn?!”

He bolts upright — then slaps a hand over his own mouth, mortified.

“W-wait, you—what are you—? I-I—!”

You glance up, cheeks full, and hum softly around him. His whole body jolts.

“O-oh my god…”

He flops backward against the pillows with a strangled whimper, hands gripping the sheets.

“I wasn’t—prepared—y-you can’t just—”

You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock and he squeaks.

“Okay you can—! I mean—only if you want—oh my god, I can’t think—”

He’s absolutely unraveling. Pink to the ears. Panting like he just ran a mile barefoot in a thunderstorm.

You keep going, slow and steady, sucking him deeper each time, feeling him twitch and pulse against your tongue. His thighs tremble around your shoulders.

“I—I think I’m gonna—nghh, wait, no, no no I’m not ready—!”

You pull back just enough to murmur, “It’s okay. Just let go.”

He makes a choked sound that might’ve been your name — or a garbled prayer — and then he’s coming with a shudder so intense the bed frame creaks. He moans helplessly, back arching, mouth open in complete disbelief as he spills down your throat.

You keep going just a moment longer, soft and soothing, until he whimpers, “Too much—p-please—stop—I’m gonna d-die—”

You pull off with a soft pop, licking your lips.

When you crawl back up to him, he’s still blinking at the ceiling like he’s seen God.

“You okay?” you whisper, nuzzling his cheek.

You laugh and curl up beside him.

He wraps you in his arms, still flushed and breathless. “You’re a menace,” he mumbles.

“I love you too,” you reply, smirking into his chest.

Min su

Min-Su doesn’t move when you wake up.

He rarely does — a featherlight sleeper, but always still, almost like he’s afraid to disturb the space he’s allowed to exist in. You’re the only one he ever relaxes around, and even then… it’s hesitant. Like a gift he’s never sure he’s allowed to give.

You turn over, tucked under the shared blanket, and find him already awake, staring at the ceiling with pink cheeks and parted lips.

His breathing stutters when he notices you watching him.

“You okay?” you whisper, brushing hair from his forehead.

He nods quickly. Then adds, barely audible: “Y-you’re close.”

You smile and press a kiss to his jaw. “I like being close to you.”

He whimpers. Literally whimpers.

You kiss lower, nuzzling down to his chest, then lower still — your hands slipping under the blanket, tugging down the waistband of his sleep pants.

His whole body locks up.

“I—w-wait—what are you—”

“You’re already hard,” you whisper with a smirk. “You’ve been thinking about it?”

His face turns crimson. He looks like he might pass out.

“I-I didn’t mean to! I swear I—ah—!”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to the flushed tip of his cock, licking gently — and the noise he makes is devastating.

“Please—please—oh god—”

You wrap your mouth around him, slowly, careful not to go too fast. He’s already shaking, hands fisted in the sheets, hips jerking like his body doesn’t know how to behave.

“You’re so good, Min-Su,” you murmur between kisses. “So sensitive… you feel everything, don’t you?”

He nods frantically, eyes glossy, mouth open in breathless shock.

You take more of him in, your hand wrapped at the base, tongue swirling under the head — and he whines. It’s soft and stifled and torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Nngh—I-I can’t—please, it’s t-too much—!”

“You can,” you murmur, barely pulling off. “You’re doing perfect. Just let me take care of you.”

He whimpers again — then sobs your name as he finally loses it.

His release is sudden, spilling hot and messy into your mouth, his whole body trembling, legs twitching under the blankets. You swallow, then pull off gently, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you climb back up beside him.

He’s wrecked.

Face flushed, tears in his lashes, hands still trembling slightly.

You kiss his cheek and tuck his head against your shoulder, holding him tight.

“You okay, baby?”

He nods, clinging to you. Then whispers, broken and breathy:

“Y-you’re… amazing. I don’t… deserve you.”

You stroke his hair.

“Yes you do. Every part of you.”

He sniffles once, lets out a shaky breath, and melts against you like soft clay in warm hands.

Sangwoo

The sun hasn't fully risen when you roll over and find Sang-woo already awake.

Not surprising.

He’s lying on his back, eyes open, arm bent behind his head like he’s deep in thought. Even in sleep, his brow knots. Like rest is another form of work for him.

“Can’t sleep?” you murmur.

His eyes flick to yours. He doesn’t smile, but his expression softens. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, feeling the quiet tension under his skin. He’s always like this in the morning — tight, thinking too hard, like he needs to plan five moves ahead before getting out of bed.

But when your hand glides under the sheet, across his abdomen and lower, that breath he’s been holding slips out in a stutter.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, voice rough.

“I want to,” you whisper.

That shuts him up.

You shift under the blankets, pressing kisses along his stomach, feeling him twitch under your mouth. He’s already half-hard — no surprise. You always suspected his self-control didn’t extend as far as he liked to pretend.

You drag your tongue slowly over the head of his cock, savoring the quiet gasp he lets out.

He fists a hand in the sheet above his head, jaw tight, trying not to show how badly he’s already trembling.

“Sang-woo,” you murmur, your lips brushing his length, “you can let go.”

His breath hitches. He doesn’t answer — but the hand not buried in the sheets finds your hair, his fingers curling just enough to anchor himself to you.

You take him deeper. He groans, low and desperate — a sound he never lets anyone hear, except you.

His hips buck slightly, and you hold him down with a firm hand on his stomach. “Stay still,” you say, mouth full.

He moans.

Every time your tongue flicks under the head, his thighs tighten. Every time you suck him deep, he makes that breathless sound that betrays just how much he needs this — needs you.

And when he’s close, he doesn’t warn you.

He just breathes your name like it’s the only prayer he knows, and then spills hot into your mouth with a quiet, drawn-out moan.

You swallow. Lick your lips. Crawl back up beside him and nuzzle your face into his neck.

His hand finds your back, holding you tightly — no words, just touch.

Eventually, he says into your hair:

“You’re the only thing I can’t predict.”

You smile against his skin.

“That’s why you like me.”

He doesn’t answer. But the arm around you tightens, just enough to count.

Gdragon

You swear, Ji-yong is art in the morning.

Bare chest rising and falling, tattoos inked into soft skin, mussed blond hair falling across his forehead. Even now, tangled in sheets and snoring lightly, he still manages to look unfairly gorgeous.

"Pookie," you whisper, dragging the word out like a tease. "Wake up."

He groans. Rolls over. “Mmm… too early. Five more minutes.”

You smirk. “Okay.”

You disappear under the covers.

He shifts a little, still half-asleep — until your mouth wraps around the tip of him, warm and slow.

“F—uck, wait—!” he yelps, jerking awake.

You hum innocently, tongue swirling, hands gripping his thighs to hold him down.

“Wha—babe,” he breathes, blinking at the ceiling like he’s trying to process reality. “Holy sh—it’s not even—what time is it—”

You take more of him in your mouth, lips stretched around his cock, and suddenly he’s not speaking at all. Just moaning, soft and shaky.

“I’m gonna—god—y-you tryna kill me this early?” he gasps, hips twitching as you suck deeper, wetter, letting drool slip down your chin.

"Pookie," you coo when you come up for air. "You taste so good in the morning."

He whines.

He’s flushed pink now, forehead damp, hand fisting in your hair like he’s not sure whether to stop you or beg for more. You go back down — this time faster, messier — and the noise he makes is straight-up sinful.

“Shitshitshit—don’t stop—I’m so close—baby please—”

You don’t stop.

You hollow your cheeks, stroke what you can’t fit with one hand, and seconds later he’s moaning your name through clenched teeth, thighs trembling as he spills hot and fast into your mouth.

You swallow and crawl back up, licking your lips like you just had the best breakfast in Seoul.

Ji-yong looks wrecked. Hair sticking out in every direction, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“I—I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “But I’m never sleeping again.”

You grin and snuggle into his side.

“Good,” you murmur, kissing his cheek. “Because I have plans for round two.”

Daesung

You find him curled up on the couch, completely knocked out.

One arm tucked under his head, the other still loosely wrapped around a throw pillow, like he was mid-hug when sleep hit him. His mouth is slightly open, his hair tousled into fluffy chaos, and the blanket you tossed over him earlier has slipped off his hips.

You bite your lip.

Too cute for his own good.

And even worse: his sweatpants are riding low, revealing just enough to spark a wicked idea.

You kneel between the cushions, careful not to jostle him too much, and nudge the waistband lower. He shifts, mumbling something incoherent — but doesn’t wake.

Not until your mouth closes around him.

His whole body tenses.

"Hh—wha…?" he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

“Shhh,” you whisper. “Just relax.”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused, and then widen as he realizes what’s happening.

“B-baby? W-what are you—oh god—”

You hum around him.

He gasps. His hand shoots to your hair, then stops, shaking.

“I—I was just—napping, I didn’t know—oh god, it feels—”

You hollow your cheeks slowly, tongue curling as you take more of him into your mouth. His hips twitch. His breath stutters.

“Is this okay?” you ask softly between licks.

He nods frantically, voice breaking. “Y-yeah—yes—more than okay—just… I c-can’t believe you—ohhh—”

You work him gently, letting it build, loving every tiny sound he makes — the shy moans, the desperate hitch in his breath, the way he grips the edge of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating away.

“Dae,” you whisper, stroking the base, lips brushing the sensitive tip, “you’re so easy to ruin.”

He whines — actually whines — and then he’s coming, legs shaking, head thrown back into the cushion as he gasps out your name, over and over.

When you pull back, he’s flushed, trembling, tears threatening in the corners of his wide, overwhelmed eyes.

You kiss his forehead and gently pull the blanket back over him.

“You okay?” you murmur.

He blinks up at you, voice hoarse: “That was… I love you.”

You laugh softly, curling up beside him and tucking yourself into his arms.

“I love you too, Dae.”

'

T.o.p

4:52 a.m.

The car is waiting outside. His suitcase is by the door. His coat’s already on.

But Seunghyun stands in the bedroom doorway, watching you — the way your body shifts under the sheets, the barest curve of your hips exposed, how your breathing deepens when you know he’s staring but pretend to sleep.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs.

You peek one eye open. “You’re not gone yet.”

His brow arches, amused, tired. “Eight minutes.”

You pull the blanket down and stretch lazily, knowing exactly what it does to him.

“You could use those minutes wisely.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Meaning?”

You crawl to the edge of the bed, kneeling before him. “Let me send you off properly.”

His expression shifts — something unreadable in the early light. “I’ll be gone for a week.”

“Then I’d better make it count.”

You tug his sweatpants down just enough to reveal him, already half-hard, warm and heavy in your hand. He hisses softly as you run your thumb over the head, then lean in and take him into your mouth.

“Ah—fuck, baby—” he groans, fingers digging into your hair like instinct.

He’s always so composed, so refined, even when falling apart. He bites his lip. Breathes hard through his nose. Tries not to moan too loudly even as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks with every slow bob.

You glance up. His eyes are dark, locked on you, like he’s trying to memorize this — you, on your knees, mouth full of him, just before he boards a plane and leaves you behind for days.

“God, your mouth,” he rasps. “You’re gonna ruin me right before I go.”

You hum around him, slow and teasing, the vibrations pulling another quiet curse from his throat.

His hands tighten. His hips jerk just slightly — he’s close.

“Let me,” he says suddenly, voice low and commanding. “Let me finish in your mouth. I want to remember that.”

You obey.

You grip his hips and take him deep, ignoring the ache in your jaw as you swallow every inch. His thighs tense. His breath catches.

And then he spills down your throat with a gasp, long and broken — eyes screwed shut, shoulders trembling, his control finally gone.

You swallow it all.

When you look up, he’s already reaching for you, pulling you to your feet, kissing you hard despite the time.

“I’ll miss you,” he says against your mouth. “More than I’ll say.”

You kiss him back just as fiercely. “Then come home soon.”

He buttons his coat. Grabs his bag. Pauses at the door for one last look.

And leaves, still tasting you on his lips.

Mingi

You don’t knock.

The spare key he gave you months ago slides smoothly into the lock, and your heart races as you ease the door open. His apartment smells like him — cedar, cotton, just a faint trace of vanilla shampoo.

You tiptoe inside, leaving your shoes by the door. Your bag hits the floor quietly. It’s still early, barely 6 a.m., but that’s the point.

You’ve been apart for three months. Different time zones, glitchy video calls, too many nights falling asleep alone. You couldn’t take it anymore — you booked the flight, packed the lingerie he likes, and didn’t tell him a thing.

And now, here you are, in his bedroom doorway, staring at him.

Song Mingi, sprawled across the mattress, mouth slightly open in sleep, covers barely hanging on to one side of his body. His tank top’s twisted, and his boxers leave little to the imagination — including the half-chub tenting the front.

You bite your lip. Three months. You missed this.

Quietly, you kneel beside the bed.

He stirs slightly as you pull the blanket away, lips brushing the skin above his waistband.

“Mmnh?” he mumbles, head shifting. “What time—?”

Your hand wraps gently around him through the fabric, and he gasps.

“Wait—what—?” He blinks groggily, half sitting up—until he sees you.

His eyes go wide. “Baby?!”

You smile, already tugging down his boxers. “Hi, love.”

“Mmph—wha—you’re here?! When—ah—!”

Your mouth is on him before he can ask anything else. Warm, wet, hungry.

He drops back to the pillows with a thud, hand flying to your hair, still trying to process this miracle.

“Fuck—fuck, I must be dreaming,” he breathes. “You feel too good—I c-can’t—”

You hum around him, swirling your tongue around the tip before sinking deeper, sucking slowly like you have all the time in the world. He’s already twitching in your mouth, breathing hard, legs tense.

“You’re gonna make me cum so fast,” he moans, flushed and helpless. “Been dreaming about this—about you—every goddamn night.”

You pop off just long enough to whisper, “Then don’t waste it.”

And then you suck him deep again — taking him all the way down, swallowing every inch while your hands hold his hips steady.

He gasps so loud it echoes. “Oh god—that’s not fair—fuckfuck—I’m gonna—”

He comes fast, thick and hot down your throat, groaning your name like a man starved. You stay there, mouth full of him, swallowing until he trembles beneath you.

When you finally crawl up beside him, he’s panting, dazed, eyes glassy.

“You really here?” he whispers.

You grin, brushing his sweaty hair off his forehead. “In the flesh. You didn’t think I’d keep you waiting forever, did you?”

He grabs you and pulls you on top of him in one swoop, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never letting you go again.”

You giggle, heart full. “Good. Because I’m not leaving.”

San

Choi San sleeps like an angel.

Even now, hair tousled, plush lips slightly parted, lashes resting soft on his cheeks — you’re struck breathless all over again. You missed him like oxygen. Video calls didn’t do justice to the way he smells, or the way his chest rises and falls in real time, warm and solid and within reach.

And you need him.

You slip under the sheets, careful not to wake him yet. He shifts slightly as your fingers brush over his hips — instinctively arching into your touch with the smallest sigh.

You smile. Still such a light sleeper, even after tour fatigue.

But you want this. Want him — before the world steals your moment.

So you press soft kisses down his bare stomach. One by one. Lower, and lower.

When your mouth wraps around him, he gasps awake.

“Hh—mmn? Wha—” His voice is thick, confused, sleep-warm. Then, “Y/N?!”

You glance up, lips still wrapped around the head of his cock. “Hi, baby.”

His eyes go wide. “Y-you’re here? You—wait, this isn’t a dream?”

You hum around him in response — and he whimpers.

“S-Stop, you’re gonna make me cry—oh my god—”

You suck him slow and deep, loving how his body arches, how one hand grips the sheet and the other buries itself in your hair like he doesn’t know what else to do.

His voice cracks when he moans again: “I missed you—fuck—I missed you so bad—”

You speed up just slightly, using your hand to stroke the base while your mouth handles the rest. He’s so sensitive from sleep, and even more from how much he’s craved you.

“I can’t—I’m gonna—baby, please—”

You moan around him, and it sends him over the edge.

He cums with a shaky cry, full of choked breath and broken whimpers, hot and thick in your mouth. You swallow, savoring every bit of him, and only pull off when he’s twitching and gasping your name like a prayer.

When you crawl up beside him, he immediately pulls you into a crushing hug, pressing his face into your neck.

“You’re real,” he whispers.

You stroke his hair. “All yours.”

San sniffles, kisses your collarbone, and mumbles against your skin: “Next time I’m flying to you. I can’t live without your mouth. Or your hugs.”

You giggle. “Good. Because I brought both.”

Namjoon

Namjoon sleeps sprawled across the bed, one arm across his forehead, the covers pushed halfway down his thighs — and you’re not sure how it’s possible for someone to look this good at 7 a.m.

You trace the dip of his hip with your fingertip, featherlight, and he shifts, exhaling a breathy sigh through his nose.

Still asleep.

You kiss down his bare chest, careful not to wake him yet. His body responds anyway — his cock stirring beneath the sheet, twitching as your lips brush just above the waistband of his boxers.

"Mm," he breathes, stirring. "Baby?"

"Shh," you whisper, gently tugging his boxers down just enough to free him.

“Wha—oh,” he gasps as you wrap your lips around the head, slowly sinking down.

He’s thick, hot, already swelling in your mouth. You take your time — lazy licks, slow suction, one hand bracing his thigh while the other strokes what your mouth can’t reach.

Namjoon groans low in his throat, a delicious sound that vibrates through the bed.

“Fuck, angel—what a way to wake up,” he rasps, voice still rough with sleep.

You glance up at him through your lashes. “Don’t stop me, Joonie.”

His eyes are half-lidded, dark and molten with affection and arousal. “As if I ever could.”

You moan around him and feel him twitch in response, the weight of his cock heavy on your tongue. He’s panting now, one big hand finding your hair, but not pushing — just resting, grounding.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs, voice reverent. “Every damn time.”

You bob your head slowly, letting saliva drip, making it messier — knowing he loves it when you get needy. When you want him like this.

His hips shift slightly. Not thrusting, just instinctively chasing more of your warmth.

“Baby, I’m gonna—fuck—”

You suck harder, moaning low around him, and that does it.

He spills into your mouth with a broken moan, head tipping back, abs tensing under your palms. You swallow every drop, staying on him until his hips jerk and his hand gently tugs your hair.

When you crawl up beside him, he’s flushed, sweaty, and smiling like you’ve just solved world peace.

“Marry me,” he mumbles into your neck.

You laugh softly, still breathless. “Again?”

He grins. “Every damn day if you keep waking me up like that.”

Yoongi

Yoongi sleeps like he means it.

Curled half under the blanket, his face buried in the pillow, hair messy and mouth soft, breathing even and deep. You watch him for a moment, heart aching with love. You know he doesn’t get enough rest — not really — so it feels a little sinful to wake him like this.

But also perfect.

Because you know what he does when you take your time. When you’re gentle with him. When you love him slow.

You crawl under the blanket and ease the sheets down his hips. He stirs slightly, brows twitching, but doesn’t wake. He’s only wearing boxers, and his cock is already semi-hard — a sleepy, instinctive reaction.

You kiss along his hipbone, featherlight, and whisper, “Good morning, love.”

He groans low, still mostly asleep. “Mm…what’re you doin’…?”

“Just want to make you feel good,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock through the fabric.

That wakes him up — barely.

“Shit,” he mutters, blinking one eye open as you pull his boxers down. “S’early…”

“Exactly,” you say, and take him into your mouth.

He moans immediately — a low, ragged sound that he tries to smother in the pillow.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re really doing this right now?”

You hum around him, and his hips twitch. He’s already getting fully hard in your mouth, warm and thick on your tongue. You suck slow and deep, wrapping your hand around the base to stroke in time with your lips.

Yoongi breathes out a curse. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Already have,” you say, lips brushing his skin as you stroke him slowly.

His hand finds your hair, loose and tentative. Never forceful. Never rushed. He lets you set the pace — because he trusts you. Because your mouth is his favorite kind of worship.

“God, your mouth… so perfect…” he whispers.

You take him deeper and moan around him, tongue swirling as his thighs tense. He’s getting close — you know the signs. The way his breath starts catching. The little noises he makes, soft and desperate and beautiful.

“Baby, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m cumming—”

You stay on him as he spills into your mouth, swallowing him down, holding his hips steady while he groans your name into the sheets. His fingers clutch at your scalp like he’s overwhelmed, barely keeping grounded.

When you finally pull off, he grabs your wrist and pulls you up beside him. His eyes are glassy, still sleepy, but filled with something soft and raw.

“That was…insane,” he mumbles, voice raspy.

“You deserved it,” you say, brushing hair from his forehead.

He buries his face in your neck and murmurs, “Can I nap with my head between your thighs now?”

You laugh, breath catching. “Always.”

jhope

Sunlight spills across the sheets like honey.

Jung Hoseok stirs beside you, brow scrunching slightly as he stretches — his chest rising, muscles flexing, lips parting with a soft groan.

He’s waking up hard, you can tell.

You smile sleepily, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Morning, Hobi.”

“Mmm…” He blinks up at you, dazed and warm. “You’re awake already?”

“Was watching you sleep.”

His grin is slow and sleepy. “That’s kinda creepy.”

“You drool,” you tease.

He gasps. “Liar.”

You giggle and press another kiss to his jaw — then lower, to his collarbone… then his chest. He shivers slightly.

“You’re already hard,” you murmur, dragging your fingers lightly down his stomach.

“Mmhmm,” he hums, eyes fluttering shut. “Woke up thinking about you. Always do.”

You slip the blanket down and lean over him, kissing the head of his cock. “Let me take care of it.”

He bites his lip, cheeks pink. “You’re too good to me…”

But he doesn’t stop you — in fact, his hips lift slightly when you slide down to kiss his thighs and take him into your mouth.

He gasps immediately. “Oh—shit, baby…”

You suck slowly, savoring the taste of him, the heat of him. One hand cradles his hip while the other strokes the base of his cock. He’s twitching already, breath coming in short bursts.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” he moans. “You’re… fuck… you’re a dream…”

You pull off just enough to whisper, “Wanna make you cum before breakfast.”

“Greedy,” he teases, then moans again when you swirl your tongue around his tip.

“Just hungry,” you murmur against his skin.

He laughs — then gasps again as you take him deeper.

It doesn’t take long. He’s sensitive in the mornings, all warm and responsive. When he gets close, he grips the sheets and gasps out your name like a chant.

“Gonna—baby, please—don’t stop—”

You don’t. You swallow everything, lick him clean, and look up with innocent eyes that make him groan and cover his face with a hand.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, voice hoarse.

You crawl up to kiss his cheek. “What a way to go.”

He laughs, breathless, and pulls you into his arms. “My turn after pancakes.”

Seo Wan

(i just can't imagine this with pookie im sorry!)

Roh jae won

The morning light was just creeping through the curtains when Jae-won stirred beside you, his arm tightening briefly around your waist. You shifted slightly under the blankets, turning toward him. His eyes were still closed, but the little furrow between his brows gave him away. Something was bothering him.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’re thinking again.”

“Mmh,” he grunted, reluctant to open his eyes. “Sorry. Just… stupid stuff.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow. “Like?”

He hesitated, then sighed, finally cracking one eye open. “You ever wish I looked... different? Down there, I mean.”

You blinked, taken aback for a moment. “Different how?”

“You know. Bigger. Less—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hairy.”

You bit back a smile. “Jae-won…”

“I’m serious,” he muttered, clearly regretting bringing it up. “I know it’s not exactly the kind of thing that looks good in porn or whatever. Just makes me feel a little—”

“Stop right there,” you interrupted, crawling closer under the sheets. “You think I care about that?”

He looked at you sheepishly. “Kinda.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I mean, it is hairy,” you said with a teasing smile, running your hand slowly down his stomach. “But I kinda like that. It’s manly. Real.”

His breath caught when your fingers brushed over the waistband of his boxers. “And as for size...” You leaned down, lips brushing against his ear. “You fit just right, baby. Every time.”

Jae-won flushed, eyes flickering with vulnerability and heat all at once. You dipped beneath the covers, dragging them over your head with a smirk.

“I’ll show you how much I like you just the way you are,” you whispered, before letting your lips trail lower, pressing kisses to his stomach, then lower still. You could feel him already half-hard, nerves and morning warmth stirring together. Your hand slipped around him, coaxing him fully to life, and despite his earlier shyness, he let out a soft moan.

“You’re seriously doing this now?” he murmured breathlessly.

“Mhm,” you hummed, kissing along his shaft. “Call it... confidence-building.”

And as your mouth closed around him, slow and gentle, his fingers threaded shakily through your hair. Whatever insecurities he woke up with were long gone by the time he whispered your name, his whole body shivering with pleasure under your touch.

Gong Yoo

Gong Yoo looked unfairly good in the morning.

The way his dark hair fell messily across his forehead, the curve of his lips soft and vulnerable in sleep, one arm slung over his head like he owned the bed (and maybe you, too)… It was all too tempting.

You shifted beside him, careful not to wake him too suddenly. The blanket had slipped low around his hips, revealing a toned stretch of stomach and the slight dip where his boxers rode down just enough to tease your imagination.

He twitched a little in his sleep. Maybe he was already dreaming of you.

Grinning to yourself, you leaned in and kissed his chest, just above his heart. Then a little lower. You knew how sensitive he got in the mornings—how slow his voice turned, how flushed his cheeks became when he woke up to your mouth instead of the alarm.

Your hand slipped beneath the blanket, brushing gently over his boxers. He stirred slightly, a low, half-formed noise in his throat.

“Mm… baby?”

“Shh,” you whispered, trailing your lips lower, nuzzling against the waistband. “Just relax.”

He blinked his eyes open, pupils heavy with sleep, then darker as he realized what you were doing. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, easing his boxers down. “But you like it.”

His cock was already stirring against your palm, heavy and warm. You wrapped your fingers around him, slow and steady, letting your thumb brush over the tip. Then, with a slow breath, you dipped your head and took him into your mouth.

His whole body reacted—hips twitching just slightly, hand finding your hair in a sleepy grasp. You worked him slowly, savoring every reaction. He let out a quiet, groaning laugh, still dazed.

“This is the best alarm clock I’ve ever had.”

You paused only to murmur, “Don’t get used to it.”

He smirked, even as his head fell back against the pillow. “Too late.”

You kept going, letting your tongue swirl around him, building the tension in lazy, delicious waves. It wasn’t rushed. It was indulgent. His thighs flexed, breath coming faster, as you pushed him right to the edge—and then gently over it.

When it was done, you pressed a kiss to his hip and crawled back up to lay beside him, licking your lips with a satisfied little smirk.

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in. “You really know how to ruin a man for normal mornings.”

You chuckled. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

[sulebari]

Jealous Park Gyeong Seok (smut)🌚

Mine To Hold

Pairing: Park Gyeong-Seok (the tattooed gangster) x Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Genre: Smut, Jealousy, Possessive!Park Gyeong-Seok, Mild Angst, Established Relationship

Warnings: Rough sex, jealousy, dirty talk, semi-public setting, mild degradation, possessiveness, biting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), manhandling

Word Count: ~2,400

Summary: You only laughed at a joke another man made. But that was enough to light a fire in Gyeong-Seok’s blood. And he has a very specific way of reminding you exactly who you belong to.

The laughter slipped from your lips before you could stop it—sharp, bright, harmless. But across the room, Park Gyeong-Seok saw red.

He’d already been simmering all night, watching you smile a little too long at a stranger’s joke, letting your gaze linger where it didn’t belong. You were his—his to protect, his to touch, his to ruin—and right now, you were testing him.

By the time the gathering wound down, Gyeong-Seok was silent beside you, jaw tight, fists clenched. You knew that look. You’d seen it on the arena floor, in the brutal flash of his fists—but tonight, it was for you.

You barely stepped inside the apartment before he slammed the door behind you.

“Enjoy yourself?” His voice was low, rough with restrained fury.

You swallowed, heat pooling low in your belly at the dangerous edge in his tone. “It was just a joke. I didn’t—”

He was on you before you could finish.

His hands gripped your waist, spinning you into the wall. His mouth crashed against yours—hot, claiming, punishing. Teeth clashed, tongues tangled, your head spinning from the force of it.

“Don’t fucking laugh at another man’s joke,” he growled into your neck, nipping hard enough to leave a mark. “You want attention, baby? I’ll give you all you can take.”

He didn’t undress you carefully. He yanked your shirt over your head, shoved your pants down to your ankles, not bothering with the slow, teasing touches he sometimes favored. Tonight, he needed to see you wrecked. Marked.

Owned.

He dropped to his knees, mouth latching onto your inner thigh as his fingers dug bruises into your hips.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, licking a stripe up to your core. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, bucking against his mouth when he devoured you without mercy.

Later, when he finally stood, pants unzipped and teeth gritted, he spun you around, bending you over the nearest surface. His hand gripped the back of your neck, keeping you down as he pushed in—rough and deep, one motion.

You cried out, and he groaned low.

“Fuck, this pussy’s perfect when it’s being good for me.”

He set a brutal pace, his chest pressed to your back, hand tangled in your hair. The sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, and his snarled curses filled the air.

“You want to tease me? Make me jealous?” he gritted, dragging his teeth along your shoulder. “This is what you get.”

When you came, it hit like lightning—your body shaking, clenching around him. He followed with a loud grunt, hips jerking as he emptied into you, not pulling out.

Afterward, you slumped against him, trembling.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and his voice softened just a touch.

“Next time you want to smile at someone, make it me.”

You turned your head, eyes glazed, lips swollen.

“Yes, sir.”

He chuckled, dark and satisfied.

“Good girl.”

[sulebari]

Send a request!!

send me a fan fic request guys! can be smut, fluff pr angst (LEE JIN WOOK CHARACTERS ONLY)

REBLOG OR COMMENT WHAT YOU WANT IN THIS POST😘

[sulebari]

hey tumblr people! i’m a new writer and i just published my first story. I will only write stories for leejinwook (his characters). It can be from squidgame, sweethome, bulgasal, etc. As long as it’s lee jin wook. Feel free to let me know if y’all have a request!😉

[sulebari]

You Belong To Me

(Do Kang Woo x Reader/f!reader)

Warnings! NSFW — 18+ readers only

(If you’re a kid, get lost)

Word count - 1622 words

Summary: Do Kang Woo’s mental illness is getting worse every time you bring up the topic about it he get’s mad. The two of you had a fight and he left but when he came back he saw you hugging another man in front of your house. That triggered his illness that led him to recklessly fucking you.

ps: this is my first time writing a story, i haven’t seen any dokangwooxreader fanfic so i made one. I hope you enjoy this!💋

Do Kang Woo's mental disorder continues to worsen, you as his girlfriend can no longer bear to see him struggling. One night, after his duty as a police officer, you decided to talk to him. "Kang-Woo, can we talk?" he immediately sat down next to you “talk about what?” Kang Woo said. You didn't know how to start, you scratched your head and said "about your illness" you didn't think Kangwoo would be angry about this "didn't I tell you I'm fine! You're always messing with me, can't you see that I'm fine?!" he said this while holding your wrist tightly. "Love you're hurting me, stop please" you begged as you removed his hand. "Why are you doing this to me? if you can't take it anymore then leave me y/n" you could see the anger mixed with sadness on his face. He removed his tight grip on your wrist and left the house. You were left crying and wondering why he didn't want to talk about his illness.

It's been a few hours since Kang Woo left. You can't help but worry but you're afraid he might get even angrier if you call him. After a while, you decided to call him "Love, where are you? Please come home, I'm worried" you're begging and crying. He didn't answer your question and said "I don't want to go home, I might not be able to control myself and hurt you. Take a rest and don’t wait up for me" he hang up the phone after saying this. You couldn't sleep all night, you didn't realize that you were up until morning waiting for Kang Woo.

You were lying on the couch like you were lifeless, thinking of nothing but what happened to Kangwoo. Suddenly, someone rang the doorbell, you immediately opened the door thinking it was Kangwoo. But instead of Kangwoo, you saw your high school boy best friend "Juyeon! What are you doing here?" You smiled because you hadn't seen him in a while. "Y/n! How have you been? It's been a while!" He hugged you and lightly kissed your cheek.

Kang Woo was on his way home when he saw you hugging Juyeon in front of your house. The smile on his lips slowly faded, he immediately ran towards the two of you and punched Juyeon. You were surprised and immediately stopped Kangwoo. "Kang Woo, what the hell! Why are you suddenly hurting people?" you got angry at Kang Woo. You can see Kang Woo’s eyes glaring with anger "Ah, you're taking that guy's side even more! Tell me, y/n, the reason why you want me to get treatment so badly is because you're fucking cheating on me?" You suddenly don’t know how to respond because your brain is already confused about what's happening and you know that Kang Woo’s mental illness is acting up again, taking over his body and mind. Juyeon decided to speak and said "No sir, you're wrong. Y/n is not cheating on you. she's my friend since high school, my name is Juyeon, Kang Juyeon" Juyeon innocently said and stretched his arm for a hand shake. Kang Woo shook of Juyeon's hand and smirked "Do you think I'll believe you? Get lost and don't get involved in our relationship if you want to live" Kang Woo slammed the door and dragged you inside

NSFW‼️

You're so scared because Kang Woo's behavior is different. You've seen him get angry before but he's completely different now, the looks in his eyes are fuming with anger as if he's ready to kill anyone, to kill you. "Kang Woo, please listen to me first. I will explain everything to you, I will never cheat on you" you're pleading and begging him but it looks like he doesn't have plans to listen. "Tell me y/n do I have to remind you who owns you?" he tried to grab your face and bring it close to him. Kang Woo enjoyed seeing you so scared and begging him. "Love, this isn't you please. Kang Woo listen to me!" your voice was shaking because of fear. "Oh really? Then who am I? A monster?" Kang Woo said it and laughed.

Before you could speak again, Kang Woo crashed his lips on you forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You can’t breathe anymore so you pushed him “Kang Woo are you crazy!” He didn’t reply to you, instead he pinned you against the wall and pressed his body against yours where you can feel his already half-hard thing “I’m the only one who can fuck you, y/n” he said as he started to hold your neck “Can he fuck you like I do hmm? Is he better than me? Bigger? Longer? Thicker? Answer me Love!” He continued to press his hard cock against yours. “No— ugh, only you Kousuke!” You stuttered as he was hardly choking you. And that was it for Do Kang Woo, he started to roughly undress you. He ripped your top off removed your bra and started to massage your breast— sucking, licking your left breast while his hands is massaging the right one “Please baby-ngghhh” Pleading him for more. Kang Woo lifted you effortlessly and brought you to the bedroom— on your way to the bedroom, the two of you are making out—

He roughly put you down the bed and harshly removed your pants “Not wearing underwear huh” he scoffs “What are you thinking, y/n? Meeting him behind my back and not wearing anything?” Looking directly to your eyes as he continued to massage your breast. You didn’t expect him to force himself inside you without a warning “UGHH— Kang Woo fff-fuuckk—“ He fucked you as if he’s punishing you, rough, messy, hard, rocking his hips too deep into you as if there’s no tomorrow “fuck baby, so fucking tight for me” he gasped “I’m almost there, baby fuckk” you told him, almost whispering because of how rough he is. “Oh not yet love, you’re not going to cum until i say so” he panted as he continued to slam his hips against yours. Kang Woo flipped you over and started riding you “Good girl, y/n. Taking my cock so good” You can’t say anything because you are too tired. The only thing that he can hear from you is your loud moans “Kang Woo please, i’m almost there” pleading him to let you cum “No, no baby, not yet” as he continued to fuck you recklessly. He sat up and positioned your face in front of his hard fat cock “suck it” you sucked him off for 20 minutes. “So eager for me y/n, pretending not to like it at first huh”. He flipped you over again and finger fucked you, licked your clit, and eat you out for 20 more minutes. He positioned you on top of him and told you to ride him. He watched as you bounce on top of him, you breast going up and down, your face full of emotion and you can’t stop yourself from moaning his name.

“Baby.. Kang Woo… please i’m almost there—uggghhh” You whined, tears threatening to spill due to the fact your pussy was so overstimulated but wanted so much more at the same time. “Me too, baby fff..fuckk” he fucked you faster, and harder until he reached his climax. “I’m cumming inside you, i don’t fucking care if i get you pregnant if that’s what is takes for you to stay with me” You can feel his seed filling you up “I love you, Do Kang Woo. I won’t leave you, never”

After your hot and rough night with him, he cleaned you. He’s so gentle and caring after fucking you hard. “I’m sorry, y/n. Let’s clean you up” You look up at him and smiled gently “It’s ok, love” You feel so happy at the same time you’re hurting. He layed you down in bed slowly and layed beside you putting his arm over you and your head resting on top of his chest. “Love, i just want to let you know that if you have a problem, you can talk to me. Please remember that i will never leave you, i love you kang woo, i love you so much.” That night you decided not to talk about his illness and cherish the love and care he’s giving you. “I love you too, y/n. Please don’t leave me, i don’t want to lose you.” The day left is full of love, two of you cuddled for the rest of the day until you both fell asleep.

[sulebari]

Lee Jin-wook in 스위트홈 / Sweet Home (2020-)

[sulebari]

can’t get enough of him😩🫰

a gyeongseok smut pleaseee… maybe having a misunderstanding with the reader🥹

Mine to break

Character: Park Gyeong-seok x Reader Rating: 🔥 Explicit (18+) Genre: Smut, Misunderstanding Trope, Rough Possessive Sex, Soft Aftercare Word Count: ~1,600 words'

Summary: When Park Gyeong-seok catches you laughing a little too close with someone else, he snaps — dragging you away, desperate to remind you exactly who you belong to. He doesn’t ask nicely. But afterward, he kisses every broken sob from your lips.

Main Warnings:

Explicit Sexual Content (18+ only)

Rough Possessive Sex

Jealous/Possessive Behavior

Misunderstanding (accusations → fucking it out)

Overstimulation

Hair Pulling

Choking (light, hand on throat but no breathplay)

Marking (bruises, bites)

Soft Aftercare

Unprotected Sex (Fantasy setting)

Mild Degradation ("mine," "you're not going anywhere")

You barely had time to gasp before Gyeong-seok had you pinned against the wall, his hand braced next to your head, his chest heaving.

"What the fuck was that?" he growled, voice low and dangerous.

You blinked up at him, heart hammering. "What was what—?"

"Flirting with him," he snapped, jaw clenching. "Smiling. Laughing. Like you're not mine."

Your mouth opened — to defend yourself, to explain — but Gyeong-seok wasn’t interested in talking.

He crushed his mouth to yours — messy, teeth and tongues and bruising need — dragging your hips against his so you could feel just how hard he already was for you.

"You think he could fuck you like I do?" he snarled against your lips. "You think anyone could wreck you the way I can?"

You whimpered, shaking your head frantically.

"Say it," he growled, biting your jaw, your throat, leaving hot bruises in his wake. "Tell me."

"N-No one," you gasped. "Only you."

That broke him. Gyeong-seok grabbed your ass, lifting you effortlessly, and slammed you against the wall again as he yanked your clothes out of the way — not caring about rips, about decency — only about getting inside you.

When he sank into you — deep, brutal, stretching you open so wide you cried out — he moaned low and desperate.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped. "So fucking tight. So fucking perfect for me."

He fucked you like he was punishing you — rough, messy, snapping his hips into you hard enough to rattle the wall. But his hands — oh, his hands — still cradled you like you might break. Still worshiped every inch of your body he could reach.

"You’re mine," he growled, slamming into you harder, faster, chasing both your pleasure like a man possessed. "You’re not leaving. You're not looking at anyone else. You fucking hear me?"

"Yes—yes—" you sobbed, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging in.

"Good," he panted. "Gonna make sure you remember."

He reached down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that made you see stars — overwhelming, filthy, perfect.

You broke apart around him — coming hard, screaming his name — and Gyeong-seok cursed, fucking you through it until he followed with a guttural moan, spilling deep inside you, hips jerking, claiming you in the only way he knew how.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your gasping breaths and the frantic pounding of both your hearts.

Gyeong-seok pressed his forehead to yours, still trembling.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked. "I just... I can't lose you."

You cupped his face with shaking hands, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "You’re not losing me," you murmured. "You never will."

He kissed you again — slower this time, reverent — still buried deep inside you, still holding you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe you were.

[sulebari]

The Life that ended

summary: They were angry at you. Why? Because you accidentally spilled your drink on them at the bar. All over their new clothes. They're mad, driving fast. Angry. furious even...so they fail to notice the car speeding towards the car

(Hyun ju, Thanos, Namgyu, Dae ho, gyeong seok, gi hun, young il, min su, sang woo) (Roh jae won, Choi san, Kim seo wan)

Hyun ju

Cho Hyun-Ju was furious.

"Are you serious?" she snapped, gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. "Do you even think before you move? Or do you just exist to ruin everything?"

You swallowed, staring down at your trembling hands. The bar had been crowded, too many bodies pressed together, too many elbows knocking into drinks. You hadn't meant to spill yours—hadn't meant for it to splash across Hyun-Ju's brand-new clothes, soaking through the expensive fabric, staining it dark.

You had apologized. Over and over. But it wasn't enough.

Hyun-Ju's foot pressed heavier against the gas pedal. The city lights blurred past the windshield, neon smearing like watercolors against the night.

"Do you know how hard it is to find something nice for myself? Something I actually like?" she continued, voice laced with frustration. "I wanted tonight to be perfect! And you—"

Her voice cut off when she finally turned to glance at you. You were crying.

Your shoulders were curled inward, shaking slightly, your hands fisted against your lap. The tears streamed down your face, silent, your lip caught between your teeth like you were trying to hold everything in.

Hyun-Ju's chest tightened, the anger still burning but shifting, warping into something else—something she couldn't name yet.

"God, don't start crying," she scoffed, but softer this time, like the fire was dimming. "It's not like I—"

Headlights. Too bright. Too close.

A deafening screech of tires.

Hyun-Ju barely had time to turn her head before everything shattered—glass, metal, bone.

The hospital lights were too harsh. Too white. They stung against her eyes when she finally forced them open, her whole body aching like it had been broken and pieced back together wrong.

She tried to move, but pain shot through her ribs, her arms—her head throbbed like it had been split open.

A doctor was there. A nurse. Someone murmured her name, told her she was lucky. That it was a miracle she survived. That they had been worried about her waking up at all.

Lucky.

The word echoed, empty.

Hyun-Ju swallowed, throat raw, something heavy weighing down on her chest. "Where are they?" she asked, voice rasping, the fog in her head still thick. "Where's—"

The silence answered her before they did.

One look at the nurse’s face. One glance at the way the doctor hesitated. And she knew.

Gone.

You were gone.

Hyun-Ju's breath hitched. The world seemed to tilt sideways, the weight pressing harder, harder.

"No."

No. That wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense.

You were there. You were just crying. Just minutes ago—no, hours ago—no, she didn’t know.

She was yelling at you. She was driving too fast. She didn’t see the car.

She was mad. So mad at you for something so stupid, something so small. Something that didn’t matter.

She had made you cry.

And now you were dead.

Hyun-Ju's hands curled into the sheets, the IV tugging against her skin. "You're wrong," she whispered, shaking her head. "They're not—"

The words cut off, choked, the lump in her throat swelling until she couldn't breathe.

The nurse reached out to touch her arm, but Hyun-Ju flinched away. Her vision blurred, her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't think.

You were gone.

And it was her fault.

Thanos

"Regret Tastes Like Whiskey"

The whiskey burned his throat, but not as much as the anger searing through his veins.

"Are you kidding me?!" Choi Su-Bong—Thanos—snapped, staring down at the wet stain spreading across his brand-new shirt. The sharp scent of your cocktail clung to the fabric, and the ice cubes slid off his chest onto the sticky bar floor.

You flinched, your hands fumbling with napkins. "I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

"Yeah? Well, you did." His voice was razor-sharp, slicing through the thick air of the bar. "God, you’re so careless sometimes. Just—just get away from me."

Your eyes welled up. "I was just trying to hand you your drink—"

"And you failed," he spat.

People were staring now, but he didn’t care. His temper had snapped, frustration bubbling over into fury. The night was ruined. His clothes were ruined. Everything was ruined.

He stormed out of the bar, not bothering to check if you were following him. Of course, you were. You always did.

The drive home was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you in the passenger seat. Thanos gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white.

"Stop crying," he muttered, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "It’s not that big of a deal."

"I—I didn’t mean to ruin your night... I just—"

"I don’t wanna hear it right now," he snapped, pressing his foot harder on the gas pedal.

You shrank back into your seat, shoulders shaking. The city lights blurred through the windshield, streaks of yellow and red, but he wasn’t really seeing them. All he saw was his own anger, red-hot and unrelenting.

"You’re always—"

A blaring horn. Bright lights. A sickening crunch.

Everything went dark.

The beeping was the first thing he noticed. A slow, rhythmic sound, like a distant metronome. His eyelids felt like lead, but when he forced them open, he was met with blinding white light.

A hospital.

His body ached, a dull, all-encompassing pain, but none of it compared to the tight, suffocating weight in his chest. Something was wrong. Something was missing.

Then he remembered.

"Where’s—?" His voice cracked. He turned his head too fast, a sharp pain shooting through his skull. "Where’s Y/N?"

No one answered him right away. The silence was suffocating.

Then, a voice. Soft. Hesitant.

"Su-Bong... they... they didn’t make it."

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Didn’t make it?

No. No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be the first thing he saw when he woke up, your worried face hovering over him, scolding him for driving like a maniac.

But you weren’t here.

You weren’t anywhere.

His breath hitched. His chest felt too tight, too small, like his ribs were caving in.

"No," he rasped. "No, that’s—No."

But the silence answered for them.

His hands trembled as he reached for the space beside him, where you should have been.

The last thing he said to you was cruel. The last thing you saw was his anger. The last memory you had of him was that he was furious at you over something so stupid.

A drink. A fucking drink.

Regret crawled up his throat, bitter and unbearable. He wanted to scream. He wanted to turn back time. He wanted you back.

Instead, he let out a broken sob, the hospital walls closing in on him, suffocating him in the weight of his own grief.

But no amount of apologies would bring you back.

And that was the worst part of all.

Nam-Gyu

Nam-Gyu’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel. His breath came out in sharp bursts, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. The scent of spilled alcohol and expensive cologne mixed in the air, a bitter reminder of what had set him off in the first place. His new blazer was ruined, the fabric sticking to his skin, cold and damp.

“Do you even think before you act?!” he snapped, eyes fixed on the road but his mind clouded with anger. “God, you’re so damn careless sometimes! This wasn’t just some cheap outfit—I spent money on this, time choosing it! And you—“

“Nam-Gyu, slow down.” Your voice was small, tentative.

He ignored you.

“You don’t take anything seriously! Do you even care how embarrassing that was? Everyone saw! Everyone laughed! You made me look like a fool!”

“I—I said I was sorry.” Your voice trembled. “It was an accident.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but Nam-Gyu didn’t see. His jaw was clenched too tight, his vision tunneling with frustration. The sound of your quiet sniffles barely reached his ears over the roar of the engine.

“Stop crying,” he muttered. “You always do this—like you’re the victim when you’re the one who—“

The headlights appeared out of nowhere.

Too fast.

Too close.

The impact was deafening. Metal twisted, glass shattered. His body lurched forward, the seatbelt biting into his chest, a sharp, searing pain exploding through his skull before everything faded into black.

Nam-Gyu woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic, the dull beeping of a heart monitor. His body ached, his head throbbed, and the bright hospital lights made his eyes water. He swallowed, his throat dry and raw.

He tried to move, but a sharp pain shot through his ribs. Groaning, he turned his head, expecting to see you there, worried, scolding him for being reckless, maybe even holding his hand.

But you weren’t there.

A chill ran down his spine. Something was wrong.

Then he saw them—the doctors, the solemn expressions, the way the nurse wouldn’t meet his eyes.

And then he knew.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

A sound ripped from his throat, something guttural, something broken. His body trembled as the words sank in, as reality crushed him beneath its weight.

You were gone.

His last words to you had been sharp, cruel. He had made you cry. He had been so blinded by his own anger, so consumed by his own pride, that he never saw the danger coming.

And now you were gone.

Tears burned hot as they spilled down his face. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about the pain in his ribs, the wires connected to his body, the doctors hovering around him. None of it mattered.

Because you weren’t here.

And you never would be again.

Nam-Gyu let out a sob, curling in on himself despite the pain. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean any of it. Please…please come back.”

But the room was silent.

And you were gone.

dae ho

Dae-Ho was furious. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his foot pressed down hard on the accelerator. The neon lights of the city streaked past in a blur, but all he could focus on was the burning anger in his chest.

"Do you even know how much this cost?!" he shouted, glancing at you, his voice raw with frustration. "You just had to be careless, didn’t you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you struggled to form words. "I—I didn't mean to, Dae-Ho, I'm so sorry. It was an accident..."

"An accident?!" he scoffed, running a hand through his damp hair. "You ruin my night, my clothes, and all you can say is sorry? You don't think before you act! You never do!"

You hiccupped through your sobs, your hands gripping your seatbelt tightly. "Please... slow down."

"Oh, now you care? Now you want me to listen?" His voice was laced with venom. He barely noticed the way your fingers trembled or how your breath hitched every time he swerved around a car.

"Dae-Ho, please—"

The blaring of a horn. The blinding glare of headlights. The world spun, twisted metal and shattering glass swallowing everything in an instant.

The beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing Dae-Ho heard when he woke up. The sterile scent of the hospital clung to the air, and pain coursed through his body, dull and relentless. His head throbbed as he blinked against the bright lights overhead.

"You're awake!" A nurse gasped, quickly stepping out to call for a doctor. But Dae-Ho barely registered her presence.

His mind was hazy, but fragments of memory stabbed through the fog. The bar. The argument. The crash.

And you.

"Where..." His voice cracked as he tried to sit up, but the sharp ache in his ribs forced him back down. "Where’s Y/N?"

The nurse hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. The look in her eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

"Mr. Dae-Ho... I'm so sorry, but—" She took a breath, steeling herself. "She didn't make it."

Everything stopped.

"No..." The word barely left his lips. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

"You were brought in together. But... she sustained severe injuries. She didn't—she couldn't—"

Dae-Ho’s vision blurred. His breathing hitched, erratic, as the words crashed over him like waves, drowning him in horror.

He couldn't move. Couldn't think. All he could hear was the pounding in his ears, the echoes of your voice begging him to slow down.

His last memory of you—tears in your eyes, fear laced in your voice, your hands trembling as you pleaded with him.

And he had ignored you.

His own recklessness, his own anger had cost you everything.

A choked sob tore from his throat. "No, no, no, no..."

The weight of it crushed him, pressing down until he could barely breathe. He would never get to say sorry. Never get to hold you, laugh with you, whisper to you in the quiet of the night.

He had been so angry over something so trivial. And now... you were gone.

A world without you was unimaginable.

Dae-Ho let out a scream, raw and broken, echoing down the sterile hospital halls.

But nothing could bring you back.

Gyeong Seok

The cold night air was thick with the scent of alcohol and regret. Neon lights flickered outside the bar, casting ghostly colors across the wet pavement. You hadn't meant to do it—God, you hadn't meant to do it. But one wrong move, one careless motion, and your drink had tipped over, spilling straight onto Gyeong-Seok's brand-new clothes.

He'd frozen for a second, his jaw tightening, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. And then the anger had hit—sharp, hot, unrelenting.

"Are you serious?" His voice had been sharp enough to cut glass. "Do you have any idea how much this cost?"

You had stammered, eyes wide, hands shaking as you reached for napkins. "I—I’m so sorry—"

"Sorry? That’s all you have to say?" His laugh had been hollow, bitter. "You’re always so damn careless. Do you even think before you do anything?"

You had shrunk under his glare, throat tight, eyes burning. He hadn’t stopped. Not even when he grabbed his keys and stormed towards his car, his fury echoing in every heavy footstep.

The drive had been a blur of speeding lights and cruel words. The wind howled past the windows as Gyeong-Seok gripped the wheel too tightly, knuckles white, his voice still ringing with anger.

"I swear, you never take responsibility for anything! You just—"

"Please slow down," you had whispered, voice trembling. "Gyeong-Seok, I—"

"No. You don’t get to cry now. You ruin everything and then act like the victim!"

And you had cried. Quietly, tears slipping down your cheeks as his words stabbed into you. You had loved him, so much that it hurt, but in that moment, he had been nothing but angry. Too angry to see how scared you were. Too angry to notice the headlights blinding through the windshield.

The deafening screech of tires.

The shattering of glass.

The world flipping over.

Pain.

Darkness.

The first thing Gyeong-Seok felt when he woke up was pain. Splitting, all-consuming pain. His body ached, his head throbbed, and when he tried to move, a sharp sting shot through his ribs.

Hospital walls. The beeping of machines. A nurse rushed in, eyes widening. "You’re awake... I'll call the doctor."

His throat was dry. "Where…?"

"You were in a car accident," she said softly. "It was severe. You—"

A memory flashed—your voice, small and broken, pleading with him to slow down. The crash. His heart twisted violently in his chest. "Where’s Y/N?"

The nurse’s expression shifted, and the silence stretched too long. His breath hitched. "Where are they?"

She hesitated. Then, quietly, she said, "I’m so sorry. They... didn’t make it."

The world stopped.

No.

No, no, no.

His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. His breath came in ragged gasps. He tried to sit up, but the pain was nothing compared to the unbearable weight crushing his chest.

"You're lying," he whispered, voice cracking. "No, they... they were right there—"

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "They... took most of the impact. By the time the paramedics arrived—"

His stomach lurched. "No!" His scream was raw, torn from his throat as if he could force the truth to change. "They can’t—! I didn’t—!"

He had been angry.

So angry that he hadn’t seen the car coming. So angry that he hadn’t realized you had been crying. So angry that now, you were gone.

And he had been the one driving.

Tears blurred his vision, his breath shuddering. "They were just crying," he whispered to no one. "I was yelling at them. I... I made them cry."

And now he would never hear your voice again. Never hold you. Never say he was sorry. Never tell you how much he loved you.

His chest heaved with broken sobs. The walls of the hospital room seemed to close in, suffocating him under the weight of what he had done.

You were gone.

And it was all his fault.

Gi hun

Gi-Hun was furious.

You could tell by the way his knuckles turned white around the steering wheel, by the way his foot was heavier on the gas pedal than it should’ve been. The streetlights outside blurred into golden streaks against the windshield as the car tore through the wet pavement. You swallowed back another sob, still shaking, your fingers digging into the fabric of your dress.

"Do you even think before you act?" Gi-Hun's voice was razor-sharp, cutting through the pounding in your head. "Do you even care? I just bought that jacket! And now look at it!"

"Gi-Hun, please, slow down—"

"No! You ruined my night, so now I have to listen to you tell me what to do? Are you serious?" His voice was dripping with venom, his hands gripping the wheel tighter. "Jesus, I should've never—"

You flinched, biting your lip to keep from crying harder. The bar had been crowded, the air thick with sweat and alcohol. You hadn’t meant to spill your drink—it had just been an accident. A simple, stupid accident. But to Gi-Hun, it was the last straw. You had never seen him this angry before.

The car jerked as he swerved into the next lane without checking. "Are you crying? Oh my god, of course, you're crying. You always—"

The horn.

Blinding headlights.

A deafening crash.

Then—nothing.

Gi-Hun woke up to the sharp scent of antiseptic and the slow beeping of a heart monitor. His head felt like it had been split open, his body aching as if he had been torn apart and stitched back together. A dull, suffocating pressure weighed down on his chest.

His mind was sluggish, the world around him a fog. But then—

Where were you?

"W—Where’s Y/N?" His throat was raw, voice hoarse as he forced the words out. His hands twitched against the scratchy hospital sheets.

Silence.

Then, the doctor exhaled. "Mr. Seong… I’m so sorry. They… they didn’t make it."

Gi-Hun's breath stopped in his throat. His body stiffened. His mind refused to process the words, but they lingered in the air like an open wound.

Didn’t make it.

Didn’t make it.

Didn’t—

"No." His voice was barely above a whisper, shaking, breaking. "No, that’s not… You’re wrong. They were just—just right here. I was—I was yelling at them, they were crying, and—"

The weight in his chest grew unbearable, crushing him, suffocating him. He grasped at the sheets, at his hospital gown, at anything to ground him, but it was useless. The grief was consuming him whole.

Tears burned down his cheeks. "No, please. Please, tell me they’re okay. Tell me they’re just in another room." He was begging now, a broken man clinging to a reality that no longer existed. "I didn’t mean it. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to be mad. Please, just—just let me see them. Please."

The doctor lowered their gaze. "I'm sorry."

Gi-Hun’s world shattered. He let out a sound that wasn’t quite human—a deep, guttural sob that tore through his chest. The last thing he had said to you was cruel. The last thing he had done was make you cry. And now, you were gone. Forever.

He wished it had been him instead.

Young il

Young-Il’s hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white, jaw locked tight as he sped down the rain-slicked road. His heart pounded, each beat fueled by the anger burning in his chest.

“Are you serious?” he barked, voice thick with fury. “My new jacket—completely ruined! Do you even think before you do anything?”

Your lower lip trembled as you hugged yourself in the passenger seat, shrinking under the weight of his words. “I—I didn’t mean to, Young-Il. It was an accident.”

He scoffed. “Yeah? Well, congratulations, you’ve officially ruined my night.”

You sniffled, wiping at the tears pooling in your eyes. You had only meant to reach for your drink at the bar, but in the chaos of the crowded space, your elbow had knocked over your glass of whiskey—right onto Young-Il’s brand-new clothes. You had apologized instantly, but his face had twisted in anger, the resentment bubbling to the surface before he stormed out, demanding you follow.

Now, he was speeding, weaving through the night like a storm raging with no direction.

“You’re always so careless,” he continued, voice sharp as a blade. “God, sometimes I wonder why I even—”

Headlights. Bright and blinding, cutting through the darkness.

The world spun.

A deafening crash.

The sickening crunch of metal against metal.

Then—silence.

Beeping. The steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.

Young-Il’s eyes fluttered open, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room swimming into view. His head ached, his body heavy, pain radiating from every limb. He groaned, forcing himself to sit up—

“Ah, you’re awake.” A nurse stood by the bedside, eyes filled with something unreadable.

“Where—” his voice came out hoarse. “Where’s Y/N?”

The nurse hesitated. Something in her pause made the air in the room feel suffocating.

“Mr. Young-Il…” she said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

His heart stopped.

“What?” His voice cracked, his chest tightening as if he’d been plunged into ice. “What do you mean?”

She lowered her gaze. “The accident was severe. You were lucky, but…” Another pause. A deep breath. “Y/N didn’t make it.”

The words slammed into him like a freight train.

Didn’t make it.

Didn’t make it.

His mind reeled. No, no, this had to be a mistake. You were just here. You had been right next to him, crying, apologizing, telling him it was an accident—

An accident.

Young-Il choked on his breath, his hands trembling violently as the memories of the night crashed down on him. The way he had yelled at you, the way he had made you cry. How he had been so focused on his anger that he hadn’t even noticed the oncoming car.

It was his fault.

A sob tore from his throat, raw and broken. He gasped for air, chest caving in under the weight of grief, but nothing could ease the agony searing through him.

You were gone.

And the last thing he had ever done was hurt you.

The last words you had ever heard from him were filled with anger. With cruelty.

Not love.

Not forgiveness.

Not goodbye.

Young-Il buried his face in his hands, tears streaming down his face.

He would give anything—anything—to go back. To take it all back. To hold you one more time, to whisper that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it, that you were the most important person in his life.

But it was too late.

And now, all he had left was the echo of his own regret.

Min Su

Min-Su’s fingers clenched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw was set, his breaths sharp and uneven. The scent of spilled alcohol still lingered in the air, soaking into his clothes, burning into his skin. The memory of it made his anger surge all over again.

“Are you serious?” he had spat, glaring at you in the dim lighting of the bar. “Do you even watch where you’re going? Look at this—my whole outfit is ruined!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You never mean to do anything, do you?”

You had flinched at the sharpness of his words, the way they cut through the space between you. His voice, usually a source of warmth and comfort, was now laced with venom. You bit your lip, eyes glistening, but he was too angry to notice. Too caught up in his own frustration.

Now, as he sped through the near-empty streets, the silence between you was thick with tension. You sat beside him, face turned away, shoulders shaking. He could hear you sniffling, the quiet, broken gasps of someone trying to hold back tears. But his pride was a wildfire, burning too brightly for him to reach out.

“You always do this,” he muttered under his breath. “Always so clumsy, always so—”

“Please slow down,” you whispered, your voice small. “Min-Su, you’re driving too fast.”

But he ignored you, kept his foot heavy on the pedal, hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His vision blurred—not from sadness, not from fear, but from rage.

He didn’t see the headlights until it was too late.

The impact was sudden, violent—an explosion of sound, metal twisting, glass shattering. His body lurched forward, slammed back, pain searing through his skull. The world turned weightless for a moment, then collapsed in on itself, swallowing everything whole.

Then—

Darkness.

Min-Su woke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, the sterile scent of antiseptic invading his lungs. His head throbbed, his body ached, but it was the silence that felt unbearable. He turned his head sluggishly, looking for you—waiting for the relief of seeing your face, hearing your voice, even if it was just to tell him how stupid he had been.

But you weren’t there.

“Where—” His throat was dry, his voice hoarse. He swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Where’s—?”

The nurse hesitated, her face tight with something he didn’t want to name.

“Sir,” she said gently, her words slow, careful. “I’m so sorry, but…” She took a breath, steeling herself. “She didn’t make it.”

His heart stopped.

No.

No, that wasn’t possible. He had been angry, he had been reckless, but you—

“You’re wrong,” he choked out, trying to sit up, ignoring the way pain screamed through his body. “She was right next to me. She—she was just—”

His mind fought against the truth, desperate, clawing for a different reality, one where you were still here. One where you were waiting beside him, ready to scold him for his temper, ready to forgive him like you always did. But the nurse’s eyes, filled with quiet sorrow, told him there was no escaping this.

Min-Su felt something inside him break. A sound left his lips—something guttural, raw, a wretched sob that ripped through his chest. His hands trembled, reaching out for nothing, for something, for you.

But you were gone.

And the last thing he had done was make you cry.

The last words he had spoken to you weren’t soft. They weren’t kind. They were cruel, sharp, dripping with resentment. He had been so angry, so blinded by something as stupid as spilled alcohol, that he hadn’t seen what truly mattered. He had driven too fast. He had ignored your pleas. He had let his fury swallow him whole, and it had taken you with it.

His body shook, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The beeping of the heart monitor sped up, frantic, matching the storm inside him. He wanted to scream, to take it all back, to trade places with you if it meant undoing what had happened.

But no matter how much he begged, no matter how many times he whispered your name into the emptiness of that hospital room, you wouldn’t answer.

You were gone.

And he was left drowning in the wreckage of his own making.

Sang woo (you're preggo in this one)

The night had started out fine.

A rare night out, just the two of you. Sang-Woo had been in a decent mood for once, and you had held onto that, savoring it. You knew how fragile peace could be with him, how his temper could turn like the shifting tide. But tonight had felt safe, almost warm. Until it wasn’t.

It was just a mistake. Just a stupid mistake.

Your grip on your glass had faltered as someone bumped into you from behind, and the cola in your cup had sloshed forward, spilling in an ugly dark stain across Sang-Woo’s crisp white dress shirt and the new jacket he had worn for the first time.

The moment the cold liquid seeped into the fabric, his entire expression darkened.

“What the hell, Y/N?” His voice was sharp, ice-cold.

“I–I’m sorry, someone bumped me–”

“Oh, so now it’s their fault?” he spat, shaking his arms out, glaring at the sticky stain that clung to him. His jaw clenched, and you knew that this wasn’t something he’d let go of easily.

“I didn’t mean to, I–”

“Forget it,” he snapped, grabbing your wrist with an iron grip. “We’re leaving.”

The air was thick in the car, heavy with unspoken words and suffocating tension. Sang-Woo’s hands gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his foot pressing too hard on the gas pedal as the car surged down the dimly lit streets.

“I can’t believe you,” he muttered, voice sharp and low, barely contained fury lacing every syllable. “Do you even think sometimes? Do you ever just–”

“I said I was sorry,” you whispered, voice small. “It was an accident.”

“An accident,” he scoffed. “You always have an excuse, don’t you? Do you know how much this jacket cost? Do you even care?”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you turned your gaze to the window, trying to steady your breathing. Your hands instinctively cradled your stomach, as if trying to shield the life growing inside you from the storm of his anger.

“Sang-Woo, slow down,” you murmured, watching as the speedometer climbed higher and higher. “Please, just–”

But he wasn’t listening. He was too caught up in his fury, too blinded by irritation to see the way your shoulders shook, the way your breath hitched in fear. He was still yelling, still spitting words that cut you deeper than he realized.

And he didn’t see the headlights.

Didn’t see the way they swerved into his lane, didn’t hear your broken gasp as your fingers dug into his sleeve. Didn’t notice until it was too late.

The impact was deafening. Metal crunched, glass shattered, the world flipped and twisted, pain bloomed like fire in your chest—and then nothing.

—

Sang-Woo woke up to the sterile sting of a hospital room. His head pounded, his body ached, but none of it compared to the suffocating weight in his chest, the creeping sense of dread that curled around his ribs like a vice.

Something was wrong.

His breath hitched as he forced himself upright, the IV tugging at his arm, the heart monitor beeping steadily beside him. His mind was hazy, sluggish, but then flashes of the night came back—your face, pale and tear-streaked, your hands on your stomach, the scream that had torn from your throat just before the crash.

His stomach twisted violently.

“Where—where’s Y/N?” His voice cracked, desperate, as he grabbed at the sleeve of the nurse passing by.

The way she hesitated was enough to tell him everything.

No.

No, no, no.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, voice soft, as if she were speaking to a grieving child. “She didn’t make it.”

The world stopped.

His ears rang, blood rushed in his head, drowning out the rest of whatever she said. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The words made no sense—none of this made sense.

Gone?

“You’re lying,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, trembling. “She—she was just here, she was fine, she—”

“She passed on impact.”

And suddenly, the air left his lungs, and he was drowning in a grief so deep it swallowed him whole.

His hands clenched the hospital sheets, his chest heaved, his mind screamed against the truth—but it was there, it was real. You were gone. You and the baby.

The baby.

Oh, God.

A strangled sob tore from his throat as he buried his face in his hands. The baby you had carried, the child he had known about, the one he had spent months pretending not to be terrified of—but secretly dreaming of anyway. The tiny life he had never even gotten to meet.

Gone.

Because of him.

Because he had been too angry. Too careless. Too blind to see what was right in front of him.

His shoulders shook violently, his body wracked with a pain that no injury could compare to. The last thing he had said to you was cruel. The last thing you had done was cry because of him. And the last thing he would ever hear from you was the sound of your broken plea.

“Sang-Woo, slow down.”

But he hadn’t. And now he would never get the chance to tell you he was sorry.

Never get the chance to make it right.

Never get the chance to hold you again.

A choked, shattered sound escaped him, something between a sob and a gasp, something raw and desperate. And then he was alone in the hospital bed, drowning in the silence you left behind.

Roh jae won

The crash came like a nightmare—sudden, violent, irreversible.

One moment, Jae-Won was gripping the wheel, his knuckles white with frustration, his voice still raw from yelling at you. The next, there was the blare of a horn, the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal twisting upon impact. Then, nothing but darkness.

When he wakes, it's to the sterile scent of antiseptic, the steady beep of a heart monitor. His head throbs, bandages pressing against his temple. The hospital room is quiet except for the soft murmur of voices outside the door. It takes a moment for the fog in his mind to clear, for the last memory to come rushing back.

The fight. The way he’d screamed at you, his anger boiling over because you had made a mistake—spilling your drink on him, on his new clothes. It was stupid, so stupid, but he had let his frustration take over, his voice cutting into you like a blade. You had looked so small in the passenger seat, wiping your tears, trying to apologize over and over while he refused to listen. He had been too busy being angry, too busy driving too fast, too reckless to notice the headlights speeding toward you both.

His breath comes faster, erratic. Where are you?

The door swings open, and the sight of your best friend standing there makes his stomach drop. Their eyes are swollen, red-rimmed. Their hands tremble as they clutch their phone. He already knows. He knows before they even open their mouth. But the words still hit like a knife twisting in his gut.

"She... she didn't make it."

The room spins.

"No. No, that's not—"

"Jae-Won... the crash... she was—"

"No, stop talking!"

He can’t breathe. He can't think. His hands clutch at the hospital sheets, nails digging in, trying to anchor himself to something—anything—because the weight of their words is too much. His chest feels like it’s caving in, his ribs cracking under the pressure of a grief he doesn't know how to hold.

You’re gone.

He remembers how your voice had wavered when you tried to tell him you were sorry. The way you had reached for him before he slapped your hand away. The tears clinging to your lashes, the ones he had ignored. The last thing he ever said to you was sharp, cruel.

And now, he’ll never get to take it back.

A sob rips through him, raw and ugly. He presses his palms against his eyes as if he can force himself to wake up from this nightmare. But no matter how hard he squeezes them shut, when he opens them again, the truth is still there.

You’re not coming back.

Choi san

The club lights pulsed in sync with the bass, casting erratic shadows over the chaos of the bar. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, the low hum of conversations—none of it could drown out the sharp hiss of frustration that left San’s lips.

"Are you serious?" he snapped, voice cutting through the din.

Your hands trembled as you held up napkins, desperately trying to blot the dark stain spreading over his expensive shirt and blazer. "San, I—I’m so sorry. It was an accident—"

"An accident?" he scoffed, jaw tight with anger. "This was new, do you even—?" He exhaled sharply, stepping back as if being near you only fueled his irritation. "Forget it. Let’s just go."

He didn’t wait for you to follow, storming out of the bar into the humid night air. You rushed after him, guilt clawing at your chest. San’s shoulders were stiff as he yanked open the car door, slamming it behind him. The second you settled into the passenger seat, he sped off, knuckles white around the wheel.

"I just don’t get it," he muttered, eyes dark with frustration. "You’re always so damn careless. Do you even think before you act?"

The words stung, your breath hitching as you turned to face him. "San, I swear I didn’t mean to. Please don’t be like this—"

"Don’t be like what?" He let out a humorless laugh, gaze flicking toward you before fixing back on the road. "Angry? Maybe I wouldn’t be if you could take anything seriously for once."

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you choked out, "I said I was sorry. Why are you being so cruel?"

He didn’t answer, gripping the steering wheel tighter, his foot pressing harder on the gas. The city lights blurred past, neon streaks against the dark. Your breath grew unsteady.

"San, slow down—"

"Why? So you can keep making excuses? So you can keep—"

Bright headlights. The deafening blare of a horn. The sickening crunch of metal.

Then—

Nothing.

Pain. Dull, gnawing pain, like a fire burning beneath his skin. San gasped awake, his vision blurred, the sterile white ceiling above him a jarring contrast to the suffocating darkness in his chest. His body ached, his mind foggy.

A hospital.

Fragments of the crash slashed through his head like broken glass. The argument. The road. The lights.

"You’re awake," a voice murmured. He turned his head slowly, wincing at the movement. A doctor stood by his bedside, their expression unreadable.

"Where—where’s Y/N?" he rasped, throat dry, heart pounding. "Are they okay?"

Silence.

The doctor lowered their gaze. And that was all it took.

A cold, hollow kind of terror settled in his bones.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no, tell me they’re okay. Tell me they—"

"I’m so sorry."

His entire world shattered in an instant. The heart monitor beeped steadily beside him, a cruel contrast to the silence that followed.

He should have seen the car. He should have slowed down. He should have stopped yelling.

But he didn’t.

And now, you were gone.

San’s chest caved as sobs wracked his battered body. He reached out, as if he could still hold onto something, anything—

But there was nothing left.

Only the echo of his own voice. Only the memory of your tears.

Only regret.

Kim Seo wan

Kim Seo-Won had only been out of the hospital for a week.

A week of relearning how to breathe in the open air, how to exist outside those sterile white walls. A week of adjusting to the noise, the unpredictability of the world, and the quiet fear that still curled in his chest like a parasite, whispering that maybe he wasn’t ready.

And then tonight happened.

You hadn’t meant to do it. Of course you hadn’t. It was just a clumsy slip of the wrist, a stumble as you turned, and suddenly, cold liquid seeped through the fabric of his brand-new shirt, dribbling down onto his jeans.

He had been so proud of that outfit. It was supposed to be a fresh start.

"Are you serious?" Seo-Won snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut.

You gasped, hands flying up. "Seo-Won, I—I'm so sorry—"

"You just—" He gestured wildly at the soaked fabric, anger surging through his veins like fire. "You don't think, do you? Just careless. Always so—"

His voice was rising. Too fast, too loud. The old anger—anger he had spent months trying to drown in therapy—was back, clawing up his throat, making him reckless.

You flinched. He saw it. He saw your eyes glisten with hurt, your lips part to apologize again, to say something to soothe him. But he wasn’t listening.

"Get in the car," he barked.

You obeyed, silent.

The drive was chaos. The engine roared as he pushed the accelerator harder than he should, his hands gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

"I can’t believe you," he seethed, eyes flicking to you before returning to the road. "You just ruin things without even thinking. Do you even know how much I—"

"Seo-Won, slow down," you whispered, voice trembling.

"No, because I—"

"Please."

But the fury was too thick, the world a blur of neon lights and rain-streaked glass. He didn’t see the car.

Not until it was too late.

The impact was deafening. A brutal, crushing sound of metal twisting, glass shattering. A scream—yours? His? Then silence.

Seo-Won woke to beeping.

White walls. Bright lights. Pain curling up his ribs like vines.

Hospital.

He sucked in a breath, throat raw. His head swam, the memories coming back in jagged pieces. The fight. The car. The crash.

His heart pounded. "Where—?"

A nurse rushed to his side. Her face was tight. Pitying.

"Mr. Kim..." she hesitated. "I'm so sorry. She... she didn't make it."

Everything stopped.

He couldn't breathe.

"No."

"She—"

"No, no, no, you're wrong." He tried to sit up, but agony lanced through his body. "She was—she was just—"

"Mr. Kim," the nurse said softly, "she died on impact."

A sob wrenched itself from his throat. His hands trembled violently as he clawed at the hospital sheets, chest heaving as if he could force the truth away. As if he could rip it from the air.

She was gone.

Because of him.

Because he had been too angry, too reckless. Because he hadn't listened when you begged him to slow down.

Seo-Won curled in on himself, shaking, grief splintering his heart into irreparable shards.

The world outside those hospital walls had never felt more unbearable.

And this time, there was no getting better.

[sulebari]

Aftercare

Summary: After a round (or more) of passion, your partner takes upon the great quest of making sure you're feeling alright and good.

Characters squid game: Hyun ju, Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-Il, Gi-hun, Dae-Ho, Min-Su, Sang-Woo

Other characters: Roh jae won, Choi San, Kim seo wan, Kim Namjoon, Yoongi, JHope

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, post-sex

Hyunju

The mirror was fogged up. The air smelled like eucalyptus and the lingering sharpness of body wash, but it was the soft sound of water dripping from the showerhead that filled the room now—steady, gentle. Hyun-Ju’s fingers brushed down your back as she pulled a towel around your shoulders, her breath still slightly uneven from the passion that had echoed against the bathroom tiles just minutes earlier.

You were sitting on the edge of the tub, dazed, skin damp and glowing. She knelt in front of you like it was second nature, her thumbs carefully rubbing small circles into your thighs, grounding you.

“You okay?” Her voice was soft, the tone threaded with a vulnerability only you got to see. She looked up at you through wet lashes, hair sticking to her cheeks.

You nodded, and she smiled.

But that wasn’t enough for her.

She pressed her forehead to your knee for a second, exhaling. Then she got up and grabbed another towel, this one warmed from where it had been resting on the radiator. She wrapped it around your back, kissed your temple, then guided you to sit back against the wall as she ran warm water in the sink.

“I’ll clean you up,” she whispered. “Just stay there, baby.”

And she did. Tenderly. Reverently. With a soft cloth, she wiped away the remnants of sweat, her touch never straying from gentle. Each motion felt like a wordless vow: I see you. I love you. I’ll take care of you.

She even kissed the inside of your wrist after drying it, murmuring, “Still with me?”

When you nodded again—this time with a faint smile—she relaxed visibly, kneeling beside you once more, pulling your hand to her chest.

“Good. You did so well for me.”

Eventually, she guided you both to lie down on the bathmat she’d padded with extra towels, curling behind you, arms wrapped around your waist like she couldn’t stand the idea of being apart just yet. You felt her lips graze the back of your neck.

“You’re safe. We’re home,” she whispered. “No rush to sleep. We’ll stay right here till you’re ready.”

And with her arms around you, the soft light from the bathroom casting everything gold, you believed it.

Thanos

The kitchen still smelled faintly of spices and grilled meat, but now it was overtaken by something else—something warmer, headier. You sat on the cool counter, skin dewy, your breath still catching in little waves as you leaned your forehead against Su-Bong’s.

He was standing between your legs, shirtless, hair damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed the same shade as your favorite spicy gochujang. And yet, in all the intensity you’d just shared, he looked at you like you were something breakable, precious.

“You okay, jagi?” he murmured, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye, then down your cheek, then cupping your jaw. You nodded, still hazy, but his eyes searched yours like he needed more than that.

“I'm more than okay,” you finally whispered, voice a little hoarse. “You?”

He gave you a crooked grin, one of those boyish, smug ones he flashed when he was proud of himself—but it softened quickly. “Of course. But now I want to take care of you properly.”

Without waiting, he gently slid your legs around his waist and lifted you off the counter, ignoring your squeak of surprise.

“You’re supposed to rest during aftercare,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’m strong enough,” he murmured, voice low as he carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, grabbing the soft blanket off the couch with one hand as he went. He set you down carefully onto the couch, then knelt in front of you, tugging the blanket over your shoulders and tucking it around you like you were a delicate dumpling.

Then he disappeared for a second.You heard the fridge open, a soft curse under his breath about “how did we forget water?” and then the faint clink of a spoon. When he came back, he handed you a glass of cool water and a little bowl with cut strawberries drizzled in honey.

“For sugar,” he said, offering a shy smile. “And because you looked too good in the kitchen and I forgot dinner.”

You blinked at the sweetness—literal and metaphorical. “Su-Bong…”

He sat beside you, arm curling around your waist, pulling you into his chest as he guided the first strawberry to your lips. “Shh. Let me pamper you.”

Wrapped in his arms, the blanket around you, the strawberries sweet on your tongue—you leaned your head on his shoulder, and for a long, perfect moment, all you heard was the slow, steady beat of his heart.

Namgyu

The bass from Club Pentagon still throbbed faintly through the tiled walls, like a fading heartbeat. The stall door was shut, the world narrowed to just the two of you, and the heat still lingered—on your skin, in your breath, in the tight curls of your fingers around his shirt.

Nam-Gyu kissed your temple gently, his usual cocky smirk nowhere in sight. He looked so serious now, eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, any trace of regret. His hand slid up your back, fingertips featherlight.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, voice low and hoarse, but full of concern. You nodded, still catching your breath, and he smiled faintly, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Wasn’t too much, right?”

“No,” you whispered. “It was perfect.”

Nam-Gyu tugged his shirt from his back pocket—somehow still miraculously clean—and dabbed carefully between your legs with the gentleness of someone who really cared. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured. “I mean it.”

The cool fabric soothed your skin, but it was his tenderness that made your throat tighten.

He kissed your knee, still crouched in front of you on the stall’s floor. “I got water in my locker,” he said. “And I’ll walk you out the side door. You don’t have to go back out there.”

You blinked at him. “But you’re working.”

“I’ve got ten minutes,” he said, and tucked your clothes back into place like they were delicate silk. “I can spare them. For you, I’d spare an hour.”

Nam-Gyu helped you stand, keeping one arm securely around your waist. He held your gaze in the mirror for a second, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You look beautiful like this. A little wrecked,” he added with a soft laugh, “but beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes, and he grinned, but then leaned forward and pressed your forehead together. “I love you, you know,” he whispered, just loud enough to hear over the thrum of the club outside.

“I know,” you whispered back. And in his arms, warm and cared for, you felt it too.

Gyeong seok

Your breath still came in shallow waves, chest rising and falling against the warmth of his skin. Gyeong-Seok's arm was wrapped tightly around you, and he hadn’t stopped touching you since the last time he whispered your name in a shaky gasp, grounding himself in the way you held him.

The room was quiet—save for the soft hum of the fan and the occasional creak of the house settling—but more importantly, Na-Yeon was still fast asleep in her room down the hall. A miracle.

You were on your side, legs tangled with his, cheek resting on his bare chest. He was still catching his breath too, fingertips tracing slow, soothing patterns along your spine.

"You okay, love?" he murmured, voice rough and gentle all at once. One of his hands cradled the back of your head protectively.

You nodded, smiling lazily against him. "More than okay."

Gyeong-Seok chuckled softly and leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. "Good. Still—let me take care of you."

He slipped away only long enough to grab a warm towel from the bathroom and one of his oversized shirts for you to wear. You watched him move—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, soft concern in his eyes—and felt like you could cry from how tender he looked.

"Arms up," he said gently when he returned, and helped you into the shirt with hands that were steady and slow, treating you like you were made of glass.

After he cleaned you up, he climbed back into bed and tucked you into his side, one arm around your shoulders, the other holding your hand against his chest.

“You’re always so good to me,” you whispered.

“Of course I am,” he said softly, lips brushing your forehead. “You give me everything. You take care of Na-Yeon like she’s your own. You love me like I’ve never been loved before. Let me give it all back.”

He reached over to grab your favorite lip balm from the nightstand and gently applied it for you. You giggled at that, and he grinned, satisfied.

“Hydration,” he said playfully, handing you a water bottle next, “Doctor’s orders.”

You sipped and settled into him, heart full. He rubbed gentle circles into your back, humming under his breath—a lullaby Na-Yeon loved. It was his way of soothing both of you, and you could feel your body relax even more as the warmth of his love wrapped around you like the soft sheets.

"Sleep now," he murmured as he kissed your eyelids shut. “I’ve got you.”

And you did. You slept, wrapped in the safest place on earth—his arms.

Young il

It was late afternoon on the island. The soft hum of the bug screen's fan was a gentle backdrop as Young-Il's office, with its open windows, smelled of salty ocean air. The muted sounds of the games filtered in through the mesh, but they felt distant—far removed from the warmth and quiet intimacy that enveloped the room.

You had just shared several passionate hours together, your body still humming from the intensity of it all. The chair—his chair, a large leather seat that seemed far too elegant for anyone else to sit in—had witnessed everything. You now leaned against it, feeling the gentle caress of his fingertips along your skin as he stroked your back softly, ensuring your comfort after every lingering moment of connection.

Young-Il wasn’t the type to rush through things. No, his love was slow, patient, and purposeful. His hand on your back moved in tender circles as he carefully wrapped a soft blanket around you. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, a slight rasp from the emotions still thick in the air.

You nodded, your heart still racing, but you felt grounded in his presence. He could sense when you needed more than just physical closeness—he was always in tune with your moods and emotions. His lips, soft and caring, kissed your temple as he made sure you were settled against him.

He gently shifted you in his arms, not wanting to let you go just yet. "Drink?" he offered, his voice calm and reassuring. He always kept something on hand—water, juice, sometimes a little wine—but today, it was a cool glass of water that he passed into your hands.

The quiet of the room seemed to lull you, the only sounds now being the occasional rustle of the games through the screen. You both shared a peaceful silence, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as you sipped from the glass. His eyes never left you, always focused, always present. Aftercare with him was a ritual, one that spoke of trust and tenderness.

"How do you feel?" he asked again, pulling you closer into his embrace, careful not to disturb the blanket tucked around you.

"Perfect," you murmured, leaning into him, your body relaxing into the comfort of his touch. "Thank you."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he kissed your forehead. "I’ve got you," he whispered, his tone laced with sincerity. "Always."

He sat with you for what felt like hours, the light fading outside as he kept you close, his arms a constant source of safety. When you started to doze off, his careful attention didn’t falter. He would wait as long as you needed, always there, always ready to provide the care you deserved.

Gi hun

The bedroom was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the streetlamp outside. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets and pillows, the remnants of a few rounds of intense passion. Gi-Hun lay beside you, his breath heavy, his chest rising and falling slowly as he tried to regain some semblance of composure.

You could feel the warmth of his body next to yours, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm. His touch was gentle now, the urgency of moments before replaced by a tender calm. He had always been attentive, but in the quiet aftermath, his care for you shone through in ways that went beyond the physical.

"Are you okay?" Gi-Hun's voice was soft, his usual light tone replaced by something deeper, more concerned. He turned to face you, his hand reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I'm good... Just a little out of breath," you teased, still feeling the rush of adrenaline from the last few moments.

Gi-Hun chuckled, a low, affectionate sound that made your heart flutter. He moved closer, pulling you into his arms. "Good. I want you to be more than just okay," he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head as he hugged you tighter.

He stayed like that for a moment, letting the silence between you stretch out, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then, he shifted slightly, pulling a blanket over both of you. His fingers delicately rubbed your back in soothing circles. "Let me take care of you," he whispered, his voice a soft promise.

You didn't need any more words. He was always this way—always concerned about you, always wanting to make sure you were comfortable and taken care of. His lips gently pressed against your forehead before he pulled back, taking the time to adjust the pillows behind you and make sure you were nestled just right in the bed.

Gi-Hun reached for the bedside table, his hands quietly rummaging through the drawer before producing a bottle of lotion. He gently massaged some into your shoulders, his touch tender, slow, giving you a sense of calm that made you melt into him. "I know you might be sore," he said, his tone soft, his hands working to ease any lingering tension in your muscles. "Let me help with that."

You couldn't help but close your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his care. He always knew how to make you feel safe, loved, and cherished. He worked his way down your back, his hands tender and deliberate, never rushing, always making sure you felt relaxed and cared for.

When he was done, he pulled the covers up over both of you, snuggling in beside you. His arms wrapped around you once more, pulling you close, and he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. "I’m here, always," he murmured. "You don’t have to worry about anything when I'm with you."

The soft rhythm of his breathing was like a lullaby, and with the warmth of his body and the soothing feeling of being held, you drifted off into a peaceful, contented sleep. In Gi-Hun’s arms, you knew you were loved, in every way possible.

Dae ho

The room smelled faintly of nostalgia—old books, faint traces of vanilla-scented candles, and the fresh linen your parents always kept. The soft hum of the night outside filtered through the window, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the occasional distant car, adding a peaceful undertone to the space. Dae-Ho sat beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took in the lingering closeness between you both.

He gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering longer than necessary, as if trying to ground himself after the passionate, electric connection you had just shared.

"I’m sorry, I know it’s strange being here," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice matching how you felt. It wasn’t the setting you had imagined for such an intimate moment—your childhood bedroom, surrounded by relics of your past—but with him, it felt oddly fitting. Safe.

Dae-Ho gave a soft chuckle, his hand resting on your shoulder, warm and reassuring. "There’s nothing strange about it." His smile was easy, but the tenderness in his gaze betrayed a deeper emotion. "You’re with me, and that’s all that matters."

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, the way his lips brushed against your skin sending a rush of warmth through your veins. Then, his hands, still slightly trembling from the intensity of the moment, began to trace gentle circles on your back. The slow, deliberate rhythm was calming, grounding.

"How do you feel?" His voice was quiet but full of care, and you could hear the concern underlying his words. Dae-Ho was always so attentive, so in tune with your needs, and tonight was no different. His fingers, now moving to trace soft patterns along your arm, felt like the perfect aftercare—nurturing, present, and so very him.

"I feel good," you murmured, the warmth of his touch making your body relax further into the soft sheets. "I just… I wasn’t expecting all of this. It’s different, but I’m glad it’s with you."

He smiled, his thumb gently caressing your skin. "I’m here for you. Always," he assured you, his voice soft yet steady. "And I’ll always make sure you’re okay."

His hands moved slowly, soothingly, as he helped you sit up just slightly, propping a pillow behind your back. The bed creaked gently as he climbed up beside you, draping a thick, soft blanket over both of you.

He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, offering it to you with a gentle, reassuring smile. "Drink. You need to stay hydrated."

You took a sip, your fingers brushing his as you handed it back. "Thank you, Dae-Ho."

With a soft hum, he tucked the blanket around your shoulders, pulling you closer against his chest. His arms enveloped you in a way that made the whole world feel safe, like nothing could touch you here in this space with him. His fingers ran gently through your hair, each stroke slow, deliberate, comforting.

"I love you," you whispered, the words so natural and easy with him. He kissed the top of your head, a deep exhale of contentment escaping him as he responded with his own soft confession.

"I love you, too," he murmured, his voice deep and full of warmth. "You’re everything to me."

For the rest of the night, you stayed nestled together in the quiet comfort of your childhood room. Dae-Ho's aftercare wasn’t just in his touch; it was in the way he made sure you felt seen, cherished, and loved. It wasn’t just about the physical—it was about ensuring you felt completely taken care of, every part of you. And with him, it was easy to believe that everything would always be alright.

Min su

After a few intense rounds of passionate love-making, the room felt heavy with the lingering warmth of intimacy. The gentle hum of the night outside was the only sound that broke the silence, as you lay nestled in Min-Su’s arms. Your bodies were still tangled in the aftermath, sweat-slicked and breathless. The intimacy had been everything you’d dreamed of and more. It was tender and raw, full of vulnerability, and a depth of emotion that left your heart racing.

Min-Su pulled you closer, cradling your face in his large, steady hands. His eyes were soft, filled with care as they searched your face for any signs of discomfort. His touch was warm and soothing, as if trying to erase any lingering tension.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low, tender, and full of concern, a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just transpired. He kissed your forehead gently, brushing your hair from your face.

You nodded, your smile faint but genuine. “I’m more than okay, Min-Su,” you whispered, your fingers running lightly across his chest. The world outside felt distant and unimportant as you basked in the afterglow.

He smiled, a soft and reassuring expression that made your heart flutter. “Good. I want you to feel safe, to feel loved. That’s all that matters.” His words were simple but carried a deep sincerity. Min-Su had always been attentive, and tonight, that care was even more apparent.

He slowly shifted, pulling the blanket over both of you, and wrapped you in his warmth. The sheets were tangled between your legs, but it didn’t matter. His arms were your safe place, and you could feel your muscles relax in his embrace.

Min-Su kissed the top of your head softly, his voice a comforting murmur in the stillness of the room. “I’m here. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just let me take care of you.”

His fingers ran soothingly over your skin, caressing the marks of the night, and you felt each touch like a promise. He wasn’t in a rush to let go of the closeness you’d shared. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, wanted to make sure you were alright.

As the night continued, he continued to whisper soft reassurances, his hands never leaving your skin, ensuring you were both emotionally and physically cared for.

In those moments, you felt completely and utterly safe, surrounded by the love and aftercare that made the night so much more than just passion—it made it something deeper, something meaningful. Min-Su had always been more than you could ever ask for.

And in this moment, he proved that with every soft kiss and gentle touch.

Sang woo

The air in the storage closet was thick with the warmth of what just happened, and the faint smell of dust mixed with your shared scent. The dim fluorescent light buzzed softly above, casting shadows over the both of you as Sang-Woo gently adjusted his shirt, smoothing out the creases like he was still trying to gather himself. You, however, sat back on the floor, still catching your breath, legs tangled with his.

For a brief moment, the office around you felt like a distant reality. The weight of work, the sterile quiet of his desk, the rigid professionalism that clung to him during the day, all of that seemed so far away. Right now, it was just the two of you—raw, vulnerable, and tangled in this moment that had ignited between you.

Sang-Woo, always the perfectionist, was already focused on taking care of you, even as his chest rose and fell with the remnants of exhaustion. His hand was steady as it brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his expression soft yet filled with a tenderness you rarely saw.

"Are you okay?" His voice was a low, gravelly whisper. His fingers hovered over your skin, tracing the outline of your cheek, like he was making sure you were still there—still with him after everything.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his touch against your cool skin. His gaze searched your face for any signs of discomfort, his brow furrowing slightly when he noticed a small tear that had slipped from your eye during the intensity of it all. He immediately wiped it away, almost ashamed of not noticing sooner.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice suddenly tight with concern. It was a side of Sang-Woo that you didn't often see—vulnerable, tender, protective.

You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. "No, Sang-Woo, I’m okay. I feel... good. Really good."

He seemed to relax at your words, but he wasn’t done yet. His hands gently lifted you up, helping you stand as he carefully adjusted your clothes.

He never rushed, always taking the time to make sure you were comfortable, to make sure you felt safe. He had a way of making every movement feel deliberate, like he was both taking care of you and of himself, making sure the connection between you two remained solid.

Sang-Woo knelt in front of you, pulling your shoes off one by one with practiced ease, before massaging your feet. The tenderness with which he held your feet in his hands made your heart skip a beat. He didn’t speak for a while, just focused on making sure your body felt cared for, cherished. The simple, quiet moments of affection meant more to you than the intensity of the act itself.

"You always do this," you murmured, watching him as he worked. "Take care of me. I never know how to thank you for it."

His eyes lifted to meet yours, his gaze steady but filled with the warmth of someone who truly cared. He let out a soft sigh, a mix of amusement and tenderness playing at the corners of his lips.

"You don’t have to thank me," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I care about you, more than you know."

With that, he finished the foot massage, moving up to sit beside you on the floor. His arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side. You leaned your head on his shoulder, breathing in the calm, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I’m here," he whispered, the words as much for him as they were for you. "Always."

And as you both sat there in the dim light of the storage closet, the world outside seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, safe in this small space, where the only thing that mattered was the connection you shared.

Roh jae won

The air in the woods was cool and fresh, the scent of pine and earth mixing with the faint smell of rain that had passed through earlier. You and Jae-Won had taken a quiet walk, hand in hand, enjoying the solitude of nature. The peaceful sounds of birds in the distance and the rustling of the trees seemed to fade as you found a secluded spot by a small, babbling creek. There, beneath the canopy of trees, everything had shifted into something far more intimate.

A few heated moments later, you were lying in his arms, nestled in the soft moss and wildflowers that dotted the ground, your heart racing in the aftermath of your love.

Jae-Won’s chest rose and fell with his deep breaths, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin, soothing and calm after the intensity of the moments before.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice warm and tender, like he was afraid of disturbing the serenity that had settled between you two.

You nodded, unable to find the words for a moment. There was a quiet peace settling around you that felt as though it belonged only to the two of you. His hand ran through your hair, fingers gently massaging your scalp. His touch was careful, as though he was treating you with the utmost reverence.

“I’m perfect,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

Jae-Won smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he shifted slightly to face you. His eyes sparkled with concern, but also affection, as if he couldn’t help but adore you in that moment.

He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Let me take care of you, okay?” He sat up and, without another word, began to gather the warmth of your shared passion with thoughtful, deliberate actions.

He reached for his jacket, draping it over your shoulders to keep you warm, the fabric smelling faintly of cedarwood and leather. As he did so, you noticed the way his hands trembled just slightly, betraying the tenderness with which he was caring for you. Jae-Won’s aftercare was always gentle, a soft and caring contrast to the fire he brought in moments of passion.

He reached into the small bag he'd carried with him, pulling out a water bottle and handing it to you. "Here, drink some. You need to stay hydrated."

You took the bottle, grateful for his thoughtfulness, and slowly sipped, feeling the cool water soothe your throat. As you drank, Jae-Won positioned himself beside you once more, his arms pulling you into his side, his body giving you the warmth you needed to feel fully grounded again.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable and peaceful, as the only sounds were the occasional chirp of a bird and the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. His fingers gently brushed against the scars on your arms, the ones that told stories only you knew. It was a small, intimate gesture, but it spoke volumes of his care for you.

“How are you really feeling?” he asked softly, his tone still laced with concern. He leaned back, propping himself up on one arm as he looked at you with his gentle, soft gaze.

You met his eyes, feeling the depth of his love and admiration for you. “I’m good. Really good. Thank you for being so… amazing.”

Jae-Won smiled, a slow, affectionate smile, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You deserve all the care and love in the world,” he murmured.

As you rested there, wrapped in his warmth, it felt as though the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this serene, quiet moment in the woods. There was no rush. There was no need for words. Just the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing in sync, his hand resting on your back, giving you the care and security you never knew you needed.

In Jae-Won’s arms, you felt truly safe.

Choi san

The hotel room was dimly lit by the glow of the bedside lamp, the faint hum of the city outside blending with the soft rhythm of your breathing. The sheets were tangled around you both, evidence of the heated moments you’d just shared. San was propped up on one arm beside you, his chest still rising and falling with the intensity of the moments that had just passed. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his eyes heavy with affection and care.

"San," you murmured, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, still a little in awe of how things had unfolded. "You're running late."

He chuckled softly, a warm sound that sent ripples of contentment through your body. "I know. But I needed this... needed you," he admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead.

You smirked, knowing well the urgency of his schedule. But when San was like this—so present and gentle—it was easy to forget the world beyond this room. The warmth in his eyes spoke volumes, and you couldn’t help but feel cherished in a way that words couldn’t capture.

"I'll be quick, promise," he whispered, kissing the top of your head before slipping out of bed. His movements were fluid, a quiet urgency replacing the earlier intensity.

You watched as he hurried around the room, collecting his clothes, though his focus never wavered from you. You admired his determination to take care of you, even in the midst of everything he had on his plate.

When he finished getting dressed, he didn’t rush out the door. Instead, he came back to your side, kneeling on the bed beside you. His hands were gentle as he reached for your face, guiding your gaze to meet his. "How do you feel?" he asked softly, brushing his lips over your cheek, a comforting gesture after the intensity of the moments you’d shared. His thumb lightly traced your bottom lip.

"Good," you replied, feeling a sense of calm settle in despite the chaos of his schedule. "Better now."

San’s expression softened, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something more sincere. He had a knack for making you feel special, no matter the circumstances. "I’m sorry I have to leave soon," he said, his voice almost apologetic. "But I’ll make it up to you."

You smiled, reaching for his hand. "You already have," you whispered, squeezing it.

He leaned down and kissed you once more, tender and slow, before gently pulling away. "Get some rest," he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek once again. "And if you need anything, just call me. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of when I get back."

With that, he stood, giving you one last lingering look before heading out the door. As you settled back into the warm embrace of the sheets, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. San’s love wasn’t just in the moments of passion—it was in these quiet aftercare moments, where he showed you how much you meant to him, no matter how late he was running.

The sound of the door clicking shut was the last thing you heard before you let yourself drift back into a peaceful sleep, knowing that, in his own way, San would always make sure you felt loved.

Kim seo wan

The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow across the tiny university dorm room. The bed, small and unassuming, was tangled with sheets, the remnants of the night they had shared. Kim Seo-Wan lay next to you, his breath steady, his chest rising and falling with a peaceful rhythm as you both slowly came down from the intensity of the moment.

You could feel his warmth, the way he gently tugged you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a protective shield. His fingers brushed through your hair, the soft strokes reassuring, grounding you in the present as your heartbeat began to return to normal.

"Are you okay?" Seo-Wan's voice was quiet, tender, a gentle murmur in your ear. He always made sure you were okay—always paying attention to how you felt, never rushing or overlooking the smallest of details.

You nodded, feeling completely safe in his embrace. "Yeah... I’m good. You?"

He smiled softly, his hand continuing its soothing movements in your hair. "I’m perfect now." His lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple, and then he pulled back just enough to look at you.

The room was small, but it felt like the two of you were in your own little world. The scent of him—musky and warm—lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smell of the coffee you had both shared earlier in the evening. The dorm room may have been cramped, but it felt like home when you were with him.

Seo-Wan reached for the small bedside table, fumbling through the mess of papers, books, and a stray sweater until his fingers found the bottle of water he’d left there earlier. He sat up, handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

You took the bottle, the coolness of the water soothing your throat as you drank, feeling the last remnants of exhaustion and tension slowly slip away.

Once you had finished, Seo-Wan gently coaxed you back down beside him, wrapping you in the warmth of his arms once more. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling the covers up to your chin.

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” he murmured, his voice still laced with concern. Seo-Wan always made sure that you felt cared for, both physically and emotionally. He could be a little reserved at times, but when it came to you, he always made his feelings clear.

He reached over and grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, folding it into a cushion before gently placing it under your head as an extra pillow. Then, with a small chuckle, he adjusted the bed to make you more comfortable, his hands so gentle that it felt like he was handling something precious.

“Let’s rest, okay? I’ll stay right here.”

You nodded, curling closer into him, your body finally unwinding after the intense connection you’d shared. Seo-Wan kissed the top of your head, his body offering a perfect balance of warmth and protection.

"You're everything to me," he whispered, just before you drifted off to sleep. And as the night stretched on, his steady presence beside you was the only thing you needed to feel completely at ease, knowing that no matter what, Seo-Wan would always be there to take care of you.

Kim namjoon

The concert had just ended, and the backstage area was buzzing with excitement as the crew wrapped things up, cleaning up the stage, and preparing for the next leg of their tour. But in the quiet corner, behind the heavy curtains and stacks of equipment, all the noise faded into nothing as Kim Namjoon, leader of BTS, gently pulled you into his arms.

The two of you had barely made it past the dressing room door before the tension between you finally snapped. After weeks of longing glances, stolen moments, and whispered conversations during his busy schedule, the night had finally arrived. His body had been aching for you, his heart thumping in rhythm with the beat of his adrenaline-filled performance. What started as a slow, lingering kiss quickly turned into something much deeper, more urgent. There was no time for hesitation, no time for anything except the overwhelming need to connect.

Now, as the remnants of his sweaty performance clung to his skin, he carefully helped you sit down on a nearby couch. The dim lighting cast soft shadows, and the quiet hum of the backstage area only highlighted the intimacy of the moment. Namjoon knelt before you, his large hands gently cupping your face, as he kissed you once more—tenderly, like he was savoring the aftermath of something beautiful, something sacred.

"Are you okay?" His voice was deep, yet soft, tinged with concern. His eyes, usually filled with the weight of the world, were now soft and warm. He seemed to radiate comfort as he carefully examined your face, making sure you were as well taken care of as he had promised.

You nodded, your fingers trailing along his arm, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath his skin. He always made sure to take care of you, never rushing, always present in every moment. But now, after everything had settled, the way he looked at you spoke volumes. He wasn't just the powerful, confident figure you saw on stage. He was the man who cherished you, the man who wanted you safe, comfortable, and loved.

Namjoon stood up and reached for a towel, patting it gently against your skin to dry off any remnants of sweat, his touch featherlight. His actions were tender, thoughtful, each movement calculated to make you feel completely cared for. He guided you to lie down on the couch as he sat beside you, brushing your hair out of your face, his large, gentle hand soothing away any tension that remained.

"Rest for a bit," he said, his voice low, a hint of the leader slipping back into his tone as he arranged pillows around you. "You deserve it."

He retrieved a small bottle of water from the side table, offering it to you with a soft smile. Once you were properly settled, he lowered himself to the couch beside you, holding you close in a comforting embrace, his hand resting lightly on your back. He was the perfect balance of strength and tenderness. His fingers traced small circles on your skin, a rhythmic gesture that calmed any lingering unease.

Namjoon didn't speak for a while, letting the silence wrap around you both, but when he did, it was a whispered promise. "I'll always take care of you. Every moment. Always."

And in that moment, amidst the chaos of the world outside, it was just the two of you—quiet, connected, and deeply loved.

Yoongi

The soft hum of the studio's speakers echoed in the background, a quiet melody that somehow complemented the rhythmic beating of your heart. The air was thick with the scent of incense Min Yoongi always kept lit in the corner, the scent of wood and amber mixing with the faint lingering of sweat and his cologne.

Your skin was still warm from the passion of the night, the aftershocks of each touch leaving you breathless and blissful. You lay there on the leather couch in the corner of his recording studio, your legs tangled in the sheets, Yoongi beside you, his body still warm against yours. The lights were dim, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of the desk lamps casting long shadows across the room.

Yoongi, ever the quiet but attentive lover, was the first to break the silence. His fingers gently traced the curve of your shoulder, the motion so tender it almost felt like a promise. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, a quiet reassurance in his touch.

“Are you okay?” His voice was a low murmur, the concern in it unmistakable. Despite his cool and distant exterior, in moments like these, he was all warmth and care, a stark contrast to the persona the world saw.You nodded, a smile curling at the corners of your lips. “Better than okay.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he whispered. Then, he stood and moved towards the small fridge near the corner of the room, retrieving a bottle of water and a damp cloth.

His movements were gentle as he returned to your side, sitting down on the couch beside you. Yoongi handed you the bottle of water, watching as you took a long drink before taking the cloth in his hand, gently wiping away the sweat that clung to your skin.

“Let me clean you up,” he said, his voice calm and soothing, his touch delicate as he dabbed the cloth over your collarbone and shoulders. His fingers moved slowly, as though he were memorizing the feel of your skin, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes at the sensation.

When he was satisfied, he tossed the cloth aside and pulled you closer, your head resting against his chest as his fingers ran through your hair, soothing and methodical. You could hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin, and in this moment, everything felt right.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi whispered, his voice almost a hushed secret between you two. His words were soft but carried weight, the depth of his affection clear in the way his fingers continued their rhythmic strokes through your hair.

“You’re perfect too,” you murmured back, your voice muffled against his chest. You could feel him smile against your forehead, the corner of his lips tugging up slightly as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Let’s stay like this for a while,” he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of sleepiness, his fingers never once stopping their gentle motions through your hair.

You didn’t need to say anything. Words weren’t needed between you two in moments like these. Just the comfort of his presence, the softness of his touch, the quiet that enveloped you both as the world outside seemed to fade away.

In Yoongi's arms, you were safe. And that was more than enough.

Jhope

In the quiet of the dance studio, the dim lighting cast soft shadows on the walls. The floor, once polished and gleaming, now held the faint traces of passion. You and J-Hope lay on the mats, the only sound in the room your soft breathing as you recovered from the intensity of the moments you’d just shared.

J-Hope propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that contrasted the heat of your earlier encounters. His hair was a little disheveled, a light sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, but he looked at you with the warmth of someone deeply content.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and caring, with a gentle lilt that always made you feel like everything would be okay.You nodded slowly, still feeling the lingering pulse of the emotions. "Yeah," you whispered. "Just… wow."

He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of playfulness and affection. Then, without another word, he reached for a nearby water bottle, uncapping it and taking a long sip before offering it to you. You took a small drink, your hands brushing as you handed it back to him. He smiled, his thumb gently wiping a bead of sweat from your temple.

"You're amazing," he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. "You did so well."J-Hope carefully pulled you close, wrapping a warm, comforting arm around you. His fingers gently traced circles on your back as he kissed the top of your head, offering reassurance in the quiet moments following your connection. He made sure you were warm, pulling the edges of a spare towel around you like a cocoon.

“I’ll make sure you’re alright,” he whispered, his fingers gently kneading the tension out of your muscles. Every touch was gentle, deliberate, and kind. The aftercare he gave wasn’t just physical—it was emotional. His presence, his reassurance, the way he made sure you felt cherished, all spoke of a deep love and tenderness he always had for you.

J-Hope helped you sit up, guiding your body into his lap. He gently massaged your scalp, his hands working through your hair with a quiet, calming rhythm. It was as though he was trying to ease away any lingering exhaustion, letting the silence between you become a shared space of calm and trust.

“You did more than enough," he whispered, and you could feel the sincerity in his words. "You deserve to rest now, okay? I’ve got you."

He took a deep breath, pulling you closer still, holding you against him as if you were the most precious thing in his world. His lips brushed against your forehead, his soft chuckle vibrating through your shared silence. And there, in the quiet, dim dance studio, after all the passion, there was only love. Only the safe feeling of being cared for.

Only the connection that made every moment feel worth it.

[sulebari]

SQUID GAME CHARACTERS CUDDLING? (with reader)

Cuddle Buddies

Characters: Cho Hyun-Ju, Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-Il, Gi-hun, Dae-Ho, Min-Su, Sang-Woo, Salesman

Summary: Above!

Warnings: none!

Hyunju

The rain drummed gently against the windows, a soft rhythm that made the whole apartment feel like a lullaby. You padded barefoot from the kitchen, two mugs of warm tea in hand, the scent of honey and chamomile curling in the air. Hyun-Ju was curled up on the couch under a thick gray blanket, legs tucked close, eyes tired but warm when they found yours.

“Smells good,” she said, voice low and a little raspy. She scooted over, lifting the blanket wordlessly in invitation.

You set the mugs down on the coffee table and climbed in beside her. She wrapped the blanket around both of you, her arm sliding around your waist as you settled in. Her body molded to yours like it was second nature. It was. Months of healing had led to this: small, quiet moments where she let herself breathe, let herself be held.

“Rough day?” you asked softly, fingers running through her hair.

She didn’t answer right away. Her head rested on your chest, rising and falling with each of your breaths.

“Not bad,” she murmured. “Just… heavy.”

You didn’t press. You knew what kind of weight lingered in her bones—the kind only time and gentleness could ease. So you pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, and whispered, “You’re safe now.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around your shirt. “I know,” she breathed. “When I’m with you, I remember that.”

Silence fell, not uncomfortable, just full of unspoken love. Outside, the rain kept falling, and inside, she finally started to relax.

You stayed like that for a long time. No words. Just her heartbeat syncing with yours.

Thanos

It’s late when he finally comes home.The door clicks shut gently behind him, like he’s afraid to disturb the quiet. You don’t need to look up from the couch to know it’s him—no one else walks that slowly, like they’re carrying the weight of the whole world in their shoulders and still trying not to let it spill onto the floor.

You stretch your arms out wordlessly.

He doesn’t hesitate.Su-Bong shrugs off his jacket and slips into the space beside you, resting his head on your chest like it’s the only pillow he ever wants. You curl your arms around him, fingers drifting up to his hair, and he exhales like he hasn’t breathed all day.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your shirt.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” He nuzzles in closer. “I think I run cold without you.”

You smile and press a soft kiss to the top of his head. He smells like wind and city and something faintly citrus—his shampoo, probably, the one you picked out for him months ago because the bottle said fresh sunshine and that made him snort laugh in the store.

“You okay?” you ask, gently.

He nods against you. “Now I am.”

There’s a silence after that, but it’s the good kind. The kind that wraps itself around both of you like another blanket. His arms tighten around your waist as your fingers card slowly through his hair, brushing out the day one strand at a time.

Eventually, he speaks again. “Let’s just stay like this. Forever.”

You laugh softly. “You say that every time we cuddle.”

“Then maybe one day you’ll believe me.”

You don’t need to say it aloud—but you do believe him. In these quiet, stolen moments, you believe everything he says. Because in a world that once took so much, Su-Bong is someone who still gives. All of him. Freely. To you.

And you hold him tighter, like a promise.l

Namgyu

The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the sunlight creeping through the blinds, or the soft hum of a fan in the corner—it was Nam-Gyu’s arm around your waist, heavy and warm, like he’d been clinging to you all night.

You barely moved, not wanting to disturb him. He was still asleep, face pressed against the back of your shoulder, breath steady and quiet. His hair was a little messy, curling slightly at the edges, and you could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back.

You smiled. It was rare to catch him this relaxed.

Nam-Gyu usually woke up before you—he liked his routines, his early mornings, his tea brewed just so. But today… he stayed. You tilted your head slightly to peek at him. His brows were soft, no tension there. No furrowed lines like when he was deep in thought. Just him. Peaceful. Yours.

You shifted a little, enough to roll over and face him. His arm slipped easily around you again, like muscle memory. Without even opening his eyes, he mumbled, “Where’re you going?”

“I wasn’t,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Just turning around.”

He hummed, eyes cracking open just enough to glance at you, then closing again as he pulled you closer until your forehead rested against his. “Good. Stay like this.”

You let out a soft laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist in return. “You’re so clingy in the mornings.”

“And you love it,” he said sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

You did. You really, really did.

Gyeong-Seok

You didn’t expect Gyeong-Seok to be home early.

You’d just gotten out of the shower, hair damp and bundled in your robe when you heard the front door shut gently. No clatter of shoes or loud “I’m home!” Just soft footsteps—and then, like always, his familiar presence filled the room like warmth from a sunbeam.

You turned to find him already loosening his jacket, his eyes on you and only you.

“Long day?” you asked, stepping forward.He gave a small nod, the kind that said, I missed you but I’m too tired to say much. That was okay. You understood him like that.

Without another word, he reached for your wrist, tugging you toward the couch like a man with one goal: cuddle time, now.

You giggled, letting him pull you down with him. He tucked himself around you easily, head resting against yours, arms snug around your waist. You felt his breath slow against the side of your neck, as if holding you made the day disappear.

“You smell like soap,” he mumbled.

“You smell like outside,” you teased.

“Fix it,” he murmured sleepily.

You leaned in, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “How?”

He nuzzled into your shoulder like a sleepy bear. “Hold me until I don’t.”

You smiled into his hair, brushing it back with gentle fingers. “Done.”

The two of you stayed tangled there, your heartbeat syncing with his. The TV stayed off. No lights. Just warmth, skin to skin, soul to soul.

Outside, the world was still too loud—but in Gyeong-Seok’s arms, there was only quiet. And safety.

And love that never asked for words.

Young-Il

Rain pattered against the windows, soft and steady. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, when Young-Il finally came home. His coat was damp, his hair even messier than usual, and his expression tired—until he saw you.

“You waited up?” he asked quietly, dropping his bag by the door.

You nodded, opening the blanket in invitation. “Only because I knew you’d come back looking like a wet puppy.”

He chuckled, shedding his coat and toeing off his shoes before crossing the room. “Then I guess I better live up to expectations.”

When he sank beside you, you felt it immediately—his warmth, the way his body curved around yours as if molded to fit. He pulled the blanket tighter around you both and pressed his forehead to your temple.

“Bad day?” you murmured.

He didn’t answer at first, just held you closer, arms wrapped snugly around your waist. His sigh was heavy but not defeated. “Just loud. Busy. But this... this makes it better.”

You let your fingers trace lazy patterns on his arm. “We don’t have to talk. Just stay here.”

His grip tightened a little. “Can we stay like this forever?”

You smiled against his chest. “Forever sounds perfect.”

There were no grand declarations, no dramatic kisses. Just the steady rhythm of his heart, the hush of rain outside, and the unspoken promise in the way he held you like you were home.

Gi hun

You find him on the couch, the television casting soft, flickering light across his face. He’s not watching, not really—just staring blankly at the screen, lost in whatever memories he refuses to speak about.You quietly cross the room and kneel beside him, gently brushing his hair from his face. “You should sleep.”

Gi-Hun looks at you with those tired eyes of his. Not the kind of tired sleep can fix, but the kind that digs into your bones. “I was waiting for you.”

“You always say that,” you whisper, curling up beside him, your head resting on his chest.

His arms wrap around you like instinct, like muscle memory. Warm and a little shaky.

Neither of you speaks for a while.Eventually, you murmur, “You’re safe now. It’s okay to rest.”

Gi-Hun kisses the top of your head, slow and soft. “I don’t know how to stop running.”

“Then let me hold you until you forget how to move,” you whisper.

He lets out a breath—half laugh, half sigh—and pulls you tighter. “Just stay here. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And you don’t. You fall asleep tangled together on the couch, while outside, the world turns quietly on.

Dae ho

Of mYou woke up to the sound of birds outside the window, but what really kept you from moving was the warmth wrapped around you.

Dae-Ho had his arms snug around your waist, his chest rising and falling against your back in a slow, steady rhythm. One of his legs was draped lazily over yours, and even though you’d tried to shift just a little—maybe to reach your phone or stretch—his hold instinctively tightened.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

You smiled. “I was just—”

“No,” he said again, eyes still closed. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“Exactly. That’s how the math works,” he murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. His nose brushed the back of your neck, and you felt him press a soft, sleepy kiss there. “You’re warm.”

“You’re clingy.”

“Mm-hm. Your fault.”

He didn’t need to say more. His touch, his steady breathing, the weight of his arm across you—everything spoke of quiet love. Safe love. The kind that made time stop for a little while.

So you let yourself melt into him, intertwining your fingers with his and whispering, “Okay. Five more minutes.”

But neither of you moved for the rest of the morning.

Min su

Min-Su’s arms were already open when you came through the door.

He didn’t say much. He rarely did when the days were heavy. His eyes flicked up from the book in his lap—one of your favorites he pretended not to enjoy—and he scooted over just enough for you to sink into his side. The blanket was already warm. His chest rose with a quiet breath as you settled in, cheek against the slope of his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and scratchy, like it had been unused all day.

You nodded against him. “Now I am.”

His fingers found yours beneath the blanket. A gentle squeeze. No pressure to speak. Min-Su never rushed you, never demanded more than what you could give. It was like he knew silence could speak, too.

The room was dim, rain ticking softly at the windows. He reached up, brushing hair from your forehead, and kissed it like it was instinct—like your head belonged under his chin, and his lips belonged against your skin.

“I like this,” he murmured, thumb rubbing slow circles into your arm. “You and me. Like this.”

You closed your eyes and pressed closer. “You always smell like laundry and safety.”

He huffed a laugh, that tiny grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s the fabric softener.”

But he held you tighter.

Time moved slowly in Min-Su’s arms. And somehow, that was your favorite part.

Sang woo

You find him sitting on the couch, his shoulders hunched, tie loose, shirt wrinkled from the long day. The apartment is quiet except for the rain tapping against the windows, and when he glances up at you, there’s something heavy in his eyes—like he’s been stuck in his head again.

“Sang-Woo?” you ask gently.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts, setting his phone face-down on the table like whatever he was looking at had pressed too many bruises.

You walk over, slipping behind him on the couch and sliding your arms around his torso, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Rough day?”

He exhales, then leans into your touch, letting his head fall back against yours. “They keep asking for things I can’t give,” he murmurs. “Deadlines. Reports. Smiles.”

Your fingers trace soothing circles over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “You don’t have to give me anything right now. Just… be here.”

He turns then, slowly, almost like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to. But when he does, his arms come around you so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on hard enough.

You end up curled on the couch like that, tangled up in each other. His head tucked beneath your chin now, your fingers carding through his hair while he murmurs things he never says out loud during the day. Apologies. Fears. Quiet gratitude.

“This,” he whispers against your collarbone. “You… You’re the only place I don’t feel like I’m failing.”

You kiss the crown of his head and whisper back, “Then stay here as long as you need."

And he does.

Salesman

You don’t hear the door open. Not at first. The rain patters gently against the window, and your blanket is wrapped tight around your shoulders as you scroll aimlessly on your phone.

Then you hear the familiar click of his shoes.

“Don’t move,” Gong Yoo’s voice calls softly from the hallway. “Let me find you.”

You smile. “Maybe I disappeared.”

“You’d leave me without a goodbye?” he teases, stepping into the room. His coat is damp, his hair tousled from the rain. He sets his briefcase down, unties his tie with one hand, and reaches for you with the other. “I’d track you down, you know.”

You laugh, but let him tug you up and into his arms. He smells like the storm and something warmer—spiced cologne and home. His arms wrap around your waist, tight and certain, like he’s afraid to let go. “Rough day?” you murmur against his chest.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just presses his lips to the top of your head, then sinks down with you onto the couch, pulling the blanket over both of you.

“Long,” he says eventually. “Tired of pretending.”

You tilt your head up. “Then don’t. Just be here.”

He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath all day. “That’s why I came back.” He leans in and kisses your temple. “You remind me I’m real.”

You stay curled up together in silence, the rain whispering outside, your fingers tracing lazy circles against his chest. He holds you like you’re the one thing in the world he doesn’t have to negotiate for. Like he doesn't need to sell anything tonight. Just this. Just you.

[sulebari]

Something like: Reactions of the Squid Game characters taking care of and being protective over a pregnant Reader during the chaos of the games <3

Bun in the oven

Characters: Hyunju, Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-Il, Gi hun, Dae ho, Min-su, Sang-Woo, Salesman

Summary: Above✨️✨️

Warnings: eee...possessive?

Hyunju

The moment the Games began, Hyun-Ju changed.

She was already smart, cautious, and kind—but now she became something more. Something dangerous. Not for you, never for you—but for anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way.

You tried to keep a low profile. Your bump wasn’t very big yet, and Hyun-Ju made sure you had the loosest green tracksuit they could find. But some things couldn’t be hidden. The way you held your back. The way you turned pale when the food was too greasy. The way she hovered at your side like a bodyguard, always placing herself between you and any threat.

Hyun-Ju kept your secret like it was her own life—because it was. She whispered calming things to you every night, arms wrapped tight around your waist, one hand resting gently over the life you both fought for.

“I’ll get you out of here,” she swore once, during lights out. “Both of you.”

During Red Light, Green Light, she ran ahead and turned back constantly, eyes flickering between the doll and your stiff body. “You’re okay. Just breathe. I’m right here.” When you stumbled at the end, she caught you with both arms like her own knees hadn’t just buckled from fear.

During the mingle game, she held your hand tightly and fought anyone trying to take your room.And when players started getting violent at night, she didn’t sleep at all. She stood over your bed, a metal bar clutched in her hands, dark eyes scanning every shadow.

No one got near you.

Not once.

“You’re not just mine anymore,” she said once, whispering against your forehead, “you’re ours. You and the baby. So let me be the shield.”

Sometimes, when she thought you were sleeping, she’d press her palm to your belly and close her eyes like she was praying. Maybe she was. Maybe you both were.

You didn’t know how long the Games would last, or if you'd survive. But one thing was clear: if Hyun-Ju had to fight the entire arena to protect you, she would—quietly, fiercely, and without hesitation.

Thanos

The bunks creaked under shifting bodies, but Su-Bong kept his eyes on you. One hand rested lightly on your stomach, the other gripping the metal frame like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. You were asleep—finally. Breathing slow, lips slightly parted. He didn’t dare move.

He should’ve never let you come here. But how could he stop you when the debt collectors didn’t care about morning sickness or ultrasound scans? You were already showing when the invitation came, and still, you had said, “It’s our baby. We fight together.”

He hadn’t stopped shaking since.---The first game had been hell. Red Light, Green Light. He remembered the way you froze—not from fear, but from instinct. Protective. Like even your own body had shifted into guardian mode. He’d been just behind you the whole time, whispering encouragement under his breath like a prayer.

Now, he wouldn’t leave your side. Not once.

---Nighttime was the worst.

He heard whispers. The crack of someone’s knuckles. Saw shadows moving between bunks, looking for weaknesses.

And Su-Bong made sure no one even glanced in your direction.

He built a barricade with his body—sat on the edge of the mattress with a makeshift weapon in hand, every muscle in his back tense. One guy came too close once. Just once.

“Walk away,” Su-Bong had said, voice low and gravel-edged.

The guy had snorted.

Until Su-Bong stood.

Broad, still. Quiet.

The guy walked.

---You woke with a wince one morning.

“Babe…” you whispered, touching your lower belly. “Kicked me.”

Su-Bong’s face transformed—softened with awe and terror all at once. “He’s okay?”

“She. Maybe,” you smiled. “She’s strong. Like you.”

He gently touched the spot, eyes wet. “I’m gonna get you both out of here.”

“You already are,” you whispered. “Every day I wake up and you’re still here, I feel safer. Even in this place.”

---Later, during the riot,

he wrapped you in his hoodie and hid you under the bunk, blocking the view with flipped mattresses and trays. Every sound of violence made his knuckles crack with tension.

He didn't sleep that night. He just crouched there beside you, hand over your belly, murmuring stories about the life you'd have after this. A small apartment. A crib painted yellow. Sunday dumplings. Peace.

---In every game, he watched you more than the clock.

Held your hand like it was the last thread holding him together.

And when your knees trembled or your breaths hitched, he steadied you with that low, steady voice:

“I’ve got you.”

“You’re not alone.”

“No matter what.”

---You never played alone.

You were two heartbeats in one body.

And he protected both with everything he had left.

Namgyu

You weren’t supposed to be here. Nam-Gyu made that clear the moment your name was called.He had grabbed your wrist so tightly it nearly hurt, eyes wide, shaking his head in disbelief. “You should’ve stayed home. You said you would—”

“I didn’t know they’d actually pick me,” you whispered, your free hand instinctively brushing your small but visible bump.You were barely three months along, but Nam-Gyu treated your pregnancy like a porcelain secret. And now, dropped into a game where people were eliminated like flies, he walked around you like a shield.

Even now, as you sat huddled on your bunk, ankles swollen, head spinning from whatever meal they’d thrown at you, Nam-Gyu knelt before you and took your hand.

“I’ll talk to them. Maybe they’ll let you go. Say it’s not safe—”

“You think they care?” you said softly. “They probably want me to lose on purpose. It’s entertainment.”

His jaw clenched. “Then we don’t let them.”

From that moment on, Nam-Gyu made sure he was your shadow. During every challenge, he found a way to keep you close. In Red Light, Green Light, he wrapped his arms around you from behind to steady your movements. During the six legged pentathatlalala (i never remember the name) game, he crouched over you, ready to take the fall if things went wrong.

“You need to rest,” he murmured one night, when you winced from a sharp cramp in your side. He helped you lie down on the thin mattress, slipping off his jacket and folding it as a pillow.

“You should keep it,” you said. “You’re cold too.”

He only shook his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re not just playing for yourself. I’m not just playing for me. We’re playing for them, too.”

You knew what he meant.

One night, as chaos erupted after lights out—shouts, scuffles, the terrifying clang of metal—Nam-Gyu shoved your bunk against the wall, pulling the blanket over both of you and holding you tight. His body pressed flush against yours like a human barrier.

“I won’t let anyone touch you,” he whispered fiercely into your hair. “I don’t care what happens to me, just—just stay breathing.”

Your fingers gripped his shirt.

And when the room finally fell quiet, you whispered, “If we make it out, you’re buying the safest crib in the country.”

He smiled against your cheek, breath shaking. “I already picked it out. Has stars on the side. Glows in the dark.”

Even here, he dared to hope. For you. For the baby. For all three of you.

Gyeong-Seok

You woke up every day in that cold, humming dormitory with your hand on your belly, a silent promise blooming in your chest: We’ll get out of here. We’ll get home. We’ll be okay.

And every morning, Gyeong-Seok was already watching you, crouched at your side like a soldier on guard duty. His eyes—soft when they looked at you—were lined with exhaustion, worry, and something fiercer than anything the games could throw at him: love.

You were about five months along when they pulled you both in. At first, the plan was to refuse. Gyeong-Seok had said no, over and over. But the bills from Na-Yeon’s hospital were crushing him. His baby girl—only three years old—needed blood transfusions, chemo, more tests. You both knew what would happen if he couldn’t pay.

You told him you'd go with him.

Now, you sat together at meals, quietly sharing extra bread he managed to charm out of someone. During games, he’d keep you close—shielding you with his body, gripping your hand like a lifeline, always scanning for anyone who looked at your stomach too long.

“She kicked again,” you whispered during a break in the six legged pentathala....(you get it), curled up beside him behind a wall. “Like she’s trying to win this thing herself.”

He smiled, tears in his eyes. “Takes after her mom.”

You watched him when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his jaw clenched during Red Light, Green Light as you stumbled slightly on the gravel. The way he nearly lost it when a stranger shoved you in line. He hadn’t hesitated—he'd stepped between you and the guy like a storm, his voice cold and lethal:

“Touch her again and I swear, game or not—”

He didn’t finish the threat. He didn’t have to.

Every night, he whispered to your belly. About Na-Yeon’s favorite cartoon. About the rice cakes she’d asked for on her birthday. About the way she’d smile when she met her little sibling.

“I just have to make it to the end,” he told you one night, tears slipping down his face. “For Na-Yeon. For you. For the baby.”

You pressed your forehead to his. “We’ll make it to the end. Together.”

Young il

The sound of the guards’ footsteps echoed through the darkened hallways of the Squid Game facility. Young-Il had always been cautious, always calculating, but the weight of the situation now rested heavier on his chest than ever before. His eyes, sharp and watchful, scanned the room as he made sure no one was watching. A few casual gestures to the guards and a glance at the glowing frontman mask in his private quarters was all it took. He was the one giving orders now.

But what made this day so different wasn’t just the power or the chaos of the game—it was you. His heart squeezed painfully as he thought about you, pregnant with his child, your soft hands gently resting on your belly as you tried to remain calm in the midst of it all. Your health was everything now. It was his priority, his responsibility, and nothing, not even the deadly games, would change that.

He’d been clear with the guards: No one touches her. His voice, cold and steady, left no room for misinterpretation. The other players were unpredictable, and even the guards were dangerous in their obedience. But he had pulled a few strings, made sure no one dared approach you while he was gone.

Even though the game was unforgiving, the other players were ruthless, and everything around you was spiraling out of control, he made sure you were hidden from the worst of it. His orders were law, but in the pit of his stomach, he could never ignore the fear that crept in whenever he wasn’t by your side. You were so fragile, so vulnerable in this twisted game. Even if you didn’t know the true extent of the danger, Young-Il did. And he would protect you with everything he had.

His fingers tightened into a fist as he turned his back to the monitors in his control room. You were safe for now. He could afford to let his mind wander only for a moment before he’d check on you again.

---You were in the women’s bathroom, leaning against the sink, trying to catch your breath. The pregnancy was beginning to wear on you, and the constant tension had made it harder to keep up. You touched your belly, a soft smile on your face as you thought of the life growing inside of you. But it wasn’t long before that peace was shattered.

The door creaked open, the sound of boots dragging against the tiles alerting you to another presence. You froze, fear flooding through your veins as you turned to face the new arrival.

She was one of the other players—someone who looked desperate, wild-eyed, and unhinged. The other woman’s eyes flicked nervously to the door, then back at you. You barely had time to react before she lunged at you, her hands around your throat, squeezing with the raw desperation of someone who had already lost too much.

Your attempts to scream were smothered by her hands. Panic set in as you realized what was happening. You were completely alone—no Young-Il, no one to save you. The woman was strong, her desperation fueling her every move. You tried to push her away, but the strength in her grip was overwhelming, and the air in your lungs began to disappear.

It happened too fast. Your vision blurred as your body went weak, and your world faded to black. The last thing you felt was the growing weight of the life inside you. And then nothing.

---Young-Il had left his station in a blur of anger and urgency. Something in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t ignore, told him that you were in danger. He’d told himself you were safe, but when you weren’t where he expected you to be, panic had gripped his chest, and he ran, pushing through the facility as quickly as possible.

The bathroom door swung open with force, and he stood frozen in place as his gaze swept across the room. His heart dropped at the sight of you—limp, lifeless on the cold tiles. Your eyes were still open, but there was no life in them, and your body had gone unnaturally still.

His breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

The woman who had attacked you was already gone. There was no trace of her, no evidence that could pinpoint her actions. But Young-Il knew. He could feel the rage building inside him, the darkness of his position as the Frontman threatening to consume him.

How could this have happened?

He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he checked for a pulse, but it was too late. The warmth that once filled your body was gone. He let out a strangled sob, his heart sinking into an abyss.

But more than the pain of your loss, more than the guilt that clung to him, what consumed him now was the gnawing thought that he couldn’t protect you, couldn’t keep you safe from the game’s cruelty. He should have been here. He should have—"She's dead," one of the guards said, his voice cold and detached.

Young-Il didn't answer. He couldn’t. He had nothing left to say, nothing that could make this right. The words were meaningless. His body trembled with the weight of what had just happened. There was no going back now.

But his mind was already turning, already plotting the future. The game had taken something precious from him, but it would pay. No one, not even the guards, would be spared from the consequences of what had just occurred.

---As the guards rushed to remove your body from the scene, Young-Il’s expression hardened. He would not let this go. Whoever had done this would regret it. And in the back of his mind, he promised that he would make the game suffer the same way he had suffered.

For you. For the child you never got to meet.

The chaos had only just begun.

Gi hun

The first time Gi-Hun notices you’re not quite yourself, it's when you flinch at the gunshot during Red Light, Green Light—not just with fear, but with instinct. Protective instinct. Your hands automatically move over your stomach, and that’s when he knows.

“Y/N…” he murmurs when the game ends, sweat sticking to his neck, voice low so no one overhears. “Are you—?”

You look away, teeth sinking into your lip. “Two months,” you whisper.

His stomach drops. The games were bad enough before. Now, with this knowledge twisting in his chest, he’s drowning in dread. But one thing becomes clearer than ever:

You are not going to die here.

And neither is your baby.

From then on, he’s your shadow. He gives you the less suspicious parts of his bread during mealtimes, even if it means going hungry. He sleeps sitting up so you can rest your head against him, hand curled protectively around your waist.

During the night when screams echo, he pulls you closer.

When Tug of War comes, he fights like hell, not just for himself—but because you're on that platform with him. Your trembling hand squeezed in his, still trying to hide how scared you are. And he anchors you. He grounds you.

“You’re strong,” he growls under his breath. “I’ve seen it. Don’t let go.”

There’s blood. There’s betrayal. But there's also Gi-Hun—hands always gentle when the world is anything but. He makes sure you walk behind him when tension rises. His eyes never stop scanning for danger. And when you throw up behind the bunks one morning, he crouches beside you, rubbing circles on your back, whispering, “You’re doing so good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

One night, huddled under a blanket of stolen coats, he presses a hand to your belly and swears he felt a flutter. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s gas. But he believes in it anyway.

And he starts calling the baby ours.-

Dae ho

The dorms were loud, suffocating with the scent of sweat, fear, and desperation. It was impossible to find peace here, let alone safety. But somehow, Dae-Ho always found a way to make space for you—both physically and emotionally.

You sat on the edge of the lower bunk, hand resting over the soft swell of your stomach. Just far enough along for the weight to show, for your body to ache, for your emotions to crash against your ribs like waves in a storm. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not in this place. Not during this.

“Here,” Dae-Ho said gently, kneeling beside you. He pulled out the crust of bread he’d saved from his own tray, breaking it in half. “You need to eat more than I do.”

You hesitated. “You haven’t had anything all day—”

“I’m not growing a tiny person inside me,” he cut in with a soft smile, tucking the food into your hand before you could argue again. “You’re not just playing for yourself anymore.”

You could cry, but you were already too tired. He must have known that. Instead of pressing, he settled beside you, shielding your frame from the view of the others. His hand ghosted protectively over your lower back, thumb brushing in calming circles.

“You can’t keep risking yourself for me,” you whispered. “What if they find out?”

Dae-Ho didn’t answer at first. His jaw flexed like he was holding something back—fear, maybe. Or anger.

“If they find out,” he said quietly, “they’ll have to go through me.”

And that was the thing about Dae-Ho. Soft-spoken. Polite. Always with his eyes cast down and his tone even—but beneath that? Steel.When lights out came and chaos began—screams, shouts, the thud of fists and betrayal—he pressed you against the wall behind the bunks, curled around you like a barrier. One hand steady on your stomach. The other, gripping a broken piece of bedframe. Just in case.

Not a single person came near.

And when it was over, and you lay trembling under the scratchy blanket, he whispered in the dark, “I’ll get you both out of here. I swear.”

Min su

You weren’t supposed to be here.Not you—not like this.

The second the games began and the doors locked behind you, you saw the panic flare in Min-Su’s eyes. He was already quiet, already careful and soft-spoken, but when he noticed the way you kept your hand over your stomach, the way you winced if you stood too quickly… he pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know until I got here,” you’d whispered back. “I thought… maybe it was nerves. Or motion sickness.”

But it wasn’t. You were maybe two months along, and already Min-Su wouldn’t let you lift a finger.

Now, the chaos of the games has only gotten worse. Team challenges. Betrayals. Tension thick in every hallway.

And yet, Min-Su won’t leave your side.

You’re seated on your shared bed, ankles swollen, exhaustion written all over your face. Min-Su’s kneeling in front of you with a damp cloth, carefully wiping your hands clean after today’s round. He hasn’t said much—but his silence speaks volumes. His brow is furrowed. His lips pressed tight. And his hand trembles just slightly as he brushes your wrist.

“I’m okay,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he replies, voice soft but strained. “This place isn’t safe. Not for you. Not for—” He trails off, his hand gently hovering just above your stomach before finally laying over it. His palm is warm, and you lean into it.

“I know,” you say. “But I’m not leaving. Not without you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. And for a moment, he’s quiet.

Then he whispers, “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll protect you. Even if I get eliminated. Even if they come for me next.”

Your eyes sting with emotion.

You tug gently at his hoodie until he scoots up beside you, curling protectively around you, hand still resting over your belly like a silent vow. You’ve never felt safer than in this moment—even in this awful place.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whisper, your fingers slipping between his. “We’re getting out together.”

Min-Su doesn’t answer. He just kisses the top of your head and pulls you closer as the lights dim for the night. And in the dark, despite everything, you feel hope.

Because Min-Su may be shy. But when it comes to you and your baby, he’s fierce.

Sangwoo

The moment he realized you were pregnant, Sang-Woo had decided two things:

1. He would get you both out of this place alive.

2. No one—no one—would lay a hand on you.

Even if he had to lie. Cheat. Kill.

The bunks weren’t made for comfort, but he built you a little fortress with blankets and his jacket, staying awake more nights than not to keep watch. When lights flickered off and chaos erupted during the night, Sang-Woo pressed you into the corner, shielding your belly with his body as others tore each other apart for a perceived advantage.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered constantly. Like a prayer. “Don’t speak. Don’t draw attention. I’ve got you.”

You hated the look in his eyes lately—haunted, distant. But whenever his hand settled on your stomach, something softened. Like he remembered who he was before the debts, before the lies. Before this.

Even when food was scarce, Sang-Woo always gave you his portion. “You’re not eating for one,” he’d joke with a weak smile, “so I’ll eat for none.” But his eyes didn’t quite meet yours.

When you cried—quietly, curled on the edge of your blanket-bed, too overwhelmed by fear and hormones—he didn’t say much. He just wrapped himself around you from behind, resting a hand over the slight swell of your belly.

“I’m going to win,” he murmured against your neck one night. “For you. For them. And if I die, I’ll die making sure you don’t.”

You believed him. Even if it terrified you.

He wasn’t the man you met years ago, suited and proud. But maybe that man had just been a shell. Because the one holding you now, bloodstained hands trembling as he kissed your temple—he was raw. Real. Desperate.

And fiercely, devastatingly in love.

Salesman

(He wasn't in the game so we're gonna do just pregnancy)

You were only five months along, but your husband had already gone into full hover mode. Gong Yoo—your sweet, overprotective, impossibly doting husband—hovered like a worried storm cloud and a sunshine beam all at once.

You reached for a chair to sit and stretch your back, but before your fingers even brushed the wood, he was there.

“Ah, ah, ah—jagiya, let me.” His arm snaked around your waist, gently guiding you into the seat as if you were made of glass. “Tell me if your back hurts. I’ll massage it. Or should we go get a new chair? One of those fancy ergonomic ones?”

You laughed softly, eyes sparkling. “Baby, I just sat down.”

He crouched in front of you, hands on your knees, eyes flicking to your belly like he could see the baby already. “You’re carrying our baby. You don’t have to lift a finger unless it’s to tell me what you want to eat.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the P. “Not even close.” Then he kissed your belly—once, twice, and murmured, “Appa’s here. I’ll make sure your mom never carries another grocery bag again.”

He wasn’t lying. Just yesterday, he’d sprinted from the bedroom in socks when he heard you open a bottle of water. “You’re twisting things?! With your wrists?!” He'd gasped like you’d tried lifting a car.

Today, when you said you might crave kimchi pancakes, he’d already preheated the pan. He kissed your forehead while you ate, and tucked an extra pillow behind your back without you asking.

And at night—when your feet throbbed and your lower back ached—he knelt beside the bed without a word, warm hands working gentle circles over your skin. Sometimes he didn’t speak, just watched you with the quiet intensity of a man whose entire universe lived inside you.

You placed your palm over his. “You’re gonna be such a good dad.”

He leaned in close, brushing his nose against yours. “I just want you safe. You and the little one. That’s all I care about.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling as your baby kicked softly beneath his palm. He froze, then looked at you like he’d seen magic. “Jagiya… again. She kicked again.”

“She likes your voice,” you whispered.

He kissed your temple. “Then I’ll never stop talking.”