joiigurl

[joiigurl]

pairing: fem!reader! x &team!fuma!

synopsis: A night out turns into a slow-burning, intoxicating encounter with Fuma. From flirty banter at the bar to a heated, passionate night behind closed doors, every touch and whispered word pulls you deeper into a world of desire and temptation. With every kiss, every moan, and every stolen moment, you discover just how electric the chemistry between you really is — and by dawn, nothing will be the same.

tags: smut, dom fuma , sub reader , dirty talk, spanking, teasing , oral & anal, aftercare, cuddling, alcohol, smoking,

wc: 3.3k

req by: @starryjihyoz <3

The mirror caught the shimmer of your highlighter under the soft glow of the vanity lights, casting a golden sheen across your cheekbones. You leaned in closer, perfecting the final swipe of lipstick — a deep, sultry shade that made your lips look fuller, softer, kissable.

The black bodycon dress hugged you like it had been stitched for your curves alone, the hem just skimming mid-thigh. Every move you made sent the fabric stretching and flexing, a subtle reminder that tonight, you were trouble wrapped in silk. You adjusted the straps, watching the way the neckline dipped low enough to draw eyes but high enough to leave something to the imagination.

Your phone buzzed on the counter. Nari.

Nari: We’re already here. He’s sitting at the end of the bar. Black shirt. You’ll see him.

You smirked. You’d heard about Fuma — the guy with the easy smile and the kind of voice that could talk you into doing almost anything. You hadn’t planned on meeting him tonight, but plans had a way of bending under temptation.

Spritzing a little perfume at the base of your throat, you grabbed your clutch and headed out. The city air was thick with weekend energy, streetlights casting a warm haze over the crowd spilling into bars and clubs.

Inside, the music was low and smooth, the kind that sank into your skin and slowed your pulse. Your eyes scanned the room — and then stopped.

There he was.

Leaning back on the barstool, elbow resting on the counter, black shirt stretching just right across his chest. His eyes caught yours almost instantly, and the corner of his mouth curved up like he’d been waiting for you.

You walked toward him, the click of your heels swallowed by the music but the sway of your hips doing all the talking. His gaze didn’t drop once.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he said when you reached him, voice low, warm, and edged with something that felt dangerous.

You smiled, sliding onto the stool beside him. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

He chuckled, signaling the bartender without looking away from you. “Let’s see how many you’ve got.”

The drink in your hand was cold, condensation dripping down the glass, but the warmth in your chest had nothing to do with alcohol.

Nari had been there for all of ten minutes before a friend dragged her toward the dance floor, throwing you a quick you’ll be fine wink. You weren’t sure if that was a warning or encouragement, but either way, it left you alone with him.

Fuma’s elbow was still resting on the bar, body angled toward you like he had nowhere else to be. His eyes moved over you slow — not the kind of quick glance most guys tried to hide, but deliberate, lingering.

“You clean up nice,” he said, his voice smooth but dipped in something heavier.

You arched a brow, taking a sip of your drink. “Nice? That’s all I get?”

His smirk deepened. “You want me to be honest?”

You leaned in slightly, enough for your perfume to drift between you. “Always.”

He didn’t hesitate. “You look dangerous.” His eyes dropped briefly to the curve of your crossed legs, the hem of your dress riding higher. “Like you know exactly what you’re doing to me right now.”

Your lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “Maybe I do.”

He hummed low in his throat, the sound barely audible over the bass of the music. “Then I should probably be worried.”

“Or excited,” you countered, letting your knee brush his under the bar — an innocent move if not for the spark in your gaze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with that in-between feeling — not yet touching, but already imagining it.

Finally, he tilted his head, eyes locked on yours. “So… are you here to have a drink with me, or are you here to ruin me?”

You bit back a grin, swirling the ice in your glass. “Why not both?”

The drinks kept coming, one after another, each one loosening the edges of your control until the world started to spin in the best way possible. Fuma’s laugh was the soundtrack to your buzz, deep and genuine, pulling you closer with every sip and every glance.

You blinked, tongue a little thick, and grinned wildly at him. “Fuck it,” you slurred just enough to be playful, “let’s dance.”

Before he could answer, you were already sliding off your barstool, your fingers hooking around the back of his shirt as you pulled him up. The thump of the bass hit your chest as you stepped onto the crowded dance floor, the neon lights washing over your skin like fire.

You pressed your body against his, hips grinding slow and deliberate, feeling the hard line of his waist beneath your hands. His palm settled there firmly, steadying you — but the heat in his eyes was anything but calm.

“Damn, you’re wild,” he murmured into your ear, voice low and rough like gravel. His breath fanned over your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

You laughed, bold and a little reckless. “You like it?”

His hand tightened just the slightest bit, fingers digging into your hip. “Fuck yeah. You’re driving me crazy.”

You nipped at his earlobe, feeling the heat spread between you like gasoline. “Good. I was hoping to.”

He pressed his mouth against your neck, teeth grazing, and whispered, “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, babe. But trust me — I’m gonna make sure you remember tonight.”

The world faded away. Just the two of you, the music pounding, bodies moving in sync, the kind of night that promised everything and nothing all at once.You were still catching your breath from the dance when Fuma pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and intense under the neon haze.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl.

You smiled, heart pounding in a way that wasn’t just from the drinks. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Outside, the city air was crisp and cool against your flushed skin as he opened the door and slid behind the wheel. The car hummed to life, and the world melted away into the quiet hum of the engine and the soft glow of streetlights passing by.

The city stretched out around you—endless towers of light, reflections dancing on wet pavement, the kind of night that felt like it belonged to just the two of you.

Fuma’s hand found yours on the console, fingers curling around yours like he never wanted to let go.

“You look fucking beautiful tonight,” he said, voice thick with something raw and honest.

You squeezed his hand, the buzz of the night settling deep in your chest. “I’m starting to believe you.”

For a while, you just drove, the silence between you comfortable, charged. Every now and then, his thumb brushed your knuckles, sending little sparks straight to your skin.

The city was alive, but all you could focus on was him—close, real, and suddenly a little terrifying.

The car slid into the small parking lot behind his building, the night wrapping around you like a secret. Fuma killed the engine but didn’t move to open the door. Instead, his eyes locked on yours, dark and demanding.

“Ready?” His voice was rough, low — full of promise.

You didn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah.”

Inside his studio apartment, the door barely clicked shut before he pulled you into him, lips crashing onto yours like a wave. His hands were everywhere — sliding under your dress, fingers digging into the curve of your hips.

You moaned against his mouth, breath shaky, heart racing. “Fuma…” you whispered, voice thick with need.

He growled softly, lips trailing down your jaw, then back up to nip your earlobe. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you effortlessly, legs wrapping tight around his waist. His strong hands moved to your ass, kneading and pulling you closer.

“God, you feel so damn good,” he murmured, voice low and possessive.

He carried you to the bedroom in one smooth motion, laying you down on the edge of the bed. His fingers grazed your skin as he slowly peeled off his shirt, revealing toned muscles that made your breath hitch.

Leaning down, his mouth found yours again — slow, teasing, before deepening into something fierce.

“I’m gonna fucking make you forget your name tonight,” he promised, voice thick with desire.

You smiled against his lips. “Try me.”

Fuma’s hands didn’t stop moving—slow and deliberate, he slid his fingers under the hem of your dress, peeling it off inch by inch until it slipped to the floor.

Your baby pink laced bra and underwear matching set was revealed beneath the soft light, delicate lace hugging your curves in all the right places.

He cursed under his breath, a low laugh vibrating in his chest. “Fuck… you’re killin’ me.”

Without hesitation, he lowered his mouth to trail hot, wet kisses along your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers gripping as a soft moan slipped past your lips.

His breath hitched, and he looked up at you with hooded eyes. “You like that?” he murmured, voice low and rough, humming against your skin as his lips moved lower.

You only nodded, too breathless to speak, the warmth of his mouth setting fire to every nerve.

Fuma’s eyes darkened with hunger as his hands slid lower, fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear before slowly sliding them off, leaving you bare beneath his touch.

He paused for a moment, his gaze locked on you, and a slow, appreciative smile curved his lips. “Damn baby, pussy’s so beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

Without hesitation, he lowered his head, lips and tongue tracing soft, teasing patterns that made your breath hitch. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

Moans spilled from your lips as he moved with practiced skill, each flick and press sending waves of pleasure rippling through you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he whispered against your skin, voice husky.

You gasped, praising him between breaths. “Fuma… you’re amazing.”

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, a fierce warmth shining there. “You deserve it, baby. You’re incredible.”

The connection between you deepened, every sound and touch weaving you tighter together in that heated space.

Fuma pulled back slowly, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he revealed his cock, and you couldn’t help but gasp, your eyes widening in surprise at just how impressive he was. The heat pooled deep inside you, your heart hammering against your ribs.

His voice was a rough whisper, full of need and longing. “Please baby… make me feel good. I want you.”

A surge of boldness flooded you, and you began to move, every motion slow and purposeful, wanting to savor the way he reacted to you. His head tilted back, eyes closing as a guttural moan tore from his throat—deep, raw, utterly undone.

“Oh, fuck…” he groaned, throwing his head back, fingers digging into your hips. “You’re incredible… damn, you feel so fucking good.”

His hands were steady and sure, guiding you with a confidence that made your breath hitch. You felt every inch of his presence, the way he took control but never rushed, wanting to savor this moment just as much as you did.

“Yeah,” Fuma murmured, voice low and rough, his eyes dark with desire as he encouraged you softly.

Your movements grew more urgent, matching the heat that radiated off him, your senses sharpened to every sound, every touch. The way he threw his head back and groaned with pleasure sent a thrill rippling through you, pushing you to keep going.

He praised you between breaths, the words rough and genuine. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

The room seemed to close in around the two of you — just your shared heat and the rhythm building between you, electric and unbreakable.

Fuma’s grip tightened on your hips as he threw his head back, his voice rough and raw.

“Yeah, that’s it — you’re such a fucking wild one.”

He pulled you closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“God, you feel so damn good. You’re driving me crazy, you filthy little tease.”

His words were a mix of praise and challenge, and you shivered at the way he said them, the fire behind every syllable.

“You’ve got me hooked, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

Fuma pulled back with a low, breathy moan, his eyes dark and commanding.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice rough like gravel, the kind of tone that brooked no argument.

You obeyed instantly, heart pounding as he positioned himself behind you. The first inch slipped inside, and you gasped, heat and fullness flooding you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, voice thick with hunger.

Your moans filled the room as he began to thrust, deep and steady, each movement driving you wild.

“Yeah? You like that?” he grunted, his hands gripping your hips hard.

“Mmh, Fuma… you’re so big,” you breathed, voice shaky with pleasure.

He slammed into you harder, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the space.

“Fuck, you feel so good. You want me to go faster, yeah?”

You nodded desperately, clutching the sheets as he picked up the pace, every thrust sending waves through your body.

Your head was pressed into the soft mattress, the world narrowing down to the feel of him pounding into you, each thrust a sharp thud that echoed through the room.

Fuma’s breath came in ragged gasps, low moans spilling from his lips — “Fuck, yeah… damn, you’re tight…”

A hard smack landed on your ass, sending a jolt through you.

“That’s my fucking girl,” he growled, voice thick with desire.

His hips slammed against yours in a steady rhythm — thump-thump, thump-thump — each one driving you closer to the edge.

You whimpered, the pleasure and heat overwhelming.

“Look at you, so damn good,” he praised, hand trailing down your spine to clutch your hip.

Another deep moan ripped from his throat — “Hnnn, fuck, yeah…” — as he picked up the pace, the sounds of your skin meeting filling the charged silence.

With a low growl, Fuma shifted beneath you, rolling onto his back and pulling you down so you straddled him. His hands immediately found your hips, steadying you as you settled on top.

Your breath hitched as you began to move, riding him slow and deliberate. The soft slick of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans — wet, warm, and full of need.

“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” Fuma groaned, his voice thick and ragged. His hands traveled up to your chest, fingers kneading your breasts firmly but gently.

“Mmm,” you moaned, leaning forward, hands tangling in his hair. “You’re amazing, Fuma.”

He hummed low, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Yeah? You like riding me like this?”

“God, yes,” you breathed, your movements growing more urgent.

A sharp slap sounded as his hand landed on your ass, sending a shiver through you.

“Fuck Y/n, you look so fucking gorgeous right now,” he growled, thrusting upward to meet you, the rhythm intensifying.

Your moans mixed with his deep hnnng and fuck as the two of you moved together, lost in the fire of the moment.

Your chest bounced hard with every movement, the rhythm making your heart race as you threw your head back, a sharp, breathy scream escaping your lips — “Ahhh!”

Fuma’s eyes darkened, heat pouring off him in waves.

“Kiss me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding.

Without hesitation, his hand shot up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you down into a fierce, hungry kiss. Your moans melted into his mouth, breath mingling as his lips crushed against yours with desperate need.

He whispered against your lips, voice rough and thick with desire, “You’re such a filthy girl… driving me insane.”

The words sent a jolt through you, making your knees tremble as you melted deeper into his touch.

Your breath hitched, voice trembling as you whispered, “I-I’m gonna come…”

Fuma’s eyes snapped open, dark and commanding. “Oh no, not yet.”

With surprising strength, he gripped your hips, lifting you off him effortlessly. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you over, positioning himself behind you.

The first powerful thrust sent a sharp thud echoing through the room, your body arching instinctively.

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes rolling back as he slammed into you harder and faster — thump-thump-thump — the sound of your skin meeting his filling the charged space.

“This is my pussy, you hear me?” Fuma growled, voice thick with possession.

“You’re so hot fucked out like this,” he continued, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

Your moans grew louder, high-pitched and breathless — mmm, ahh, fuck — every sound fueling the fire between you both.

Fuma’s breathing hitched, voice rough as he groaned, “Fuck… I’m coming too.”

He gripped your hips tighter, eyes locking on yours with fierce heat. “Let’s do it together, hm?”

You didn’t answer — your vision blurred, stars spinning behind your eyelids, lips parted and breathless.

He slammed into you harder, the thump-thump-thump pounding rhythm relentless now.

“You’re gonna make me come, baby,” he repeated, voice ragged, desperate.

A sharp curse tore from his throat — “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” — as your bodies trembled together.

Your muscles clenched, shaking uncontrollably as you both let out loud, breathy cries, the world narrowing to the fierce connection between you.

With a final deep thrust, Fuma pulled out, the warm rush spreading over your skin and pooling in the sheets beneath you.

Your body was still trembling as your breath slowly evened out, the sound of your ragged moans mingling with his low chuckles.

He laughed softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Damn, you’re something else.”

Fuma leaned down, his breath warm against your flushed skin as he captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His tongue danced with yours, exploring, claiming — a long, passionate connection that said more than words ever could.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were soft, honest, and a little vulnerable.

“You know,” he began, voice low and sincere, “Nari kept talking about you all night… how amazing you are. I didn’t really believe her at first.”

He smiled, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead. “But after tonight… I’m starting to think she was right. You’re something else.”

Your heart fluttered as he reached for your hand, squeezing it gently.

“So, what do you say? Want to go out with me? For real this time.”

You swallowed, still catching your breath, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

“I’d like that.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling with warmth.

“Good. Because first, I’m gonna clean you up.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you close again, and the quiet promise of something new settled between you.

You were lying on his chest, your head resting softly on his arm as the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled you into a calm warmth. The room was dim, the city lights filtering faintly through the curtains.

Fuma flicked a lighter and brought a cigarette to his lips, the glow briefly illuminating his face. He took a slow drag, then glanced down at you with a lazy smirk.

“You smoke baby?” he asked, the cigarette dangling from his mouth.

You blinked up at him, surprised, but nodded.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward, offering the cigarette.

You hesitated for a moment, then leaned in, taking in the smoke as best you could. It burned your throat slightly, and a sudden cough escaped you.

Fuma chuckled softly, the sound warm and amused.

“Cute,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smile.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your lips—soft and lingering.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

You smiled against him, feeling safe and strangely content in the quiet of his arms.

[joiigurl]

“Champion’s prize” 🔞 pt.2

Pairings: femreader! x &team!nicholas!

Synopsis: After surviving a toxic relationship, you find unexpected comfort and fierce protection in Nico—the undefeated boxing champion who’s as relentless in the ring as he is with winning your heart. But can you trust yourself to fall again?

Tags: Boxing AU ,Champion x Reader ,Post-Fight Sex , Locker Room Sex , Smut ,Oral Sex , Penetrative Sex ,Praise Kink ,Dirty Talk ,Rough Sex ,Semi-Public Sex , Aftercare ,Romantic Smut , Winner x Girlfriend ,Protective Boyfriend , Jealous Boyfriend , Fluff and Smut Mix Reader Insert Strong Language

Wc: 15.9k words

part one || part two

req by: @hyebaragii0709 <3

You push open the door, still smiling from your night out with Nico. The familiar chatter from the living room grows louder. Fuma’s voice cuts through immediately.

“Okay, spill! How was it? Did he treat you like the queen you are or what?”

You grin, shrugging off your coat. “Honestly? Nico’s a good guy. Really good.”

K, sitting stiffly on the couch, shoots you a wary look. “You sure about that? You know how guys like him can be.”

You roll your eyes but keep your tone light. “K, please. Nico’s different. He’s not some typical boxer dude. Trust me.”

Fuma jumps in, practically bouncing. “I saw the way he looked at you! So serious, so protective. You’re lucky, seriously.”

K narrows her eyes but says nothing more. You laugh and head toward your room.

Once inside, you lock the door behind you and pull out your phone. Your thumb hovers over Nico’s name, then you open your messages.

His reply pops up almost instantly:

“I want to see you more. Like, fucking really see you. Not just tonight. You belong with me, and I’m not letting go.”

Your heart skips a beat. Damn, Nico didn’t hold back.

You grin to yourself, fingers already typing back.

A bell jingled softly as the door to your flower shop opened, and there stood Nico, arms crossed casually with a small grin.

“Delivery for the prettiest girl I know,” he said, holding up a bouquet wrapped in brown paper.

You blinked, heart fluttering. “Nico? What are you—”

He stepped inside, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Thought I’d stop by. Hey, have you eaten yet?”

You shook your head, a little shy. “No… I haven’t.”

He smirked. “Well then, lunch is on me. Let’s go.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t have anyone to cover the shop… but—”

Before you could finish, Fuma appeared behind Nico, flashing a sly smile. “I’ve got this. I’ll cover the shop. Go. You deserve a break.”

K gave you a quick nod from the corner, clearly trusting Fuma too.

Grateful, you grabbed your coat and followed Nico out.

⸻

At the cozy café, the sunlight streamed in warm and bright as you both settled into a corner table. Conversation flowed easily.

“So,” Nico said, leaning back with that signature cocky grin, “how’s business, pretty girl? Still killing it with those flowers?”

You laughed softly. “Trying to. It’s not always easy, but I love it. Keeps me busy.”

He nodded, eyes warm but curious. “Busy is good. Keeps the mind off shit.”

You glanced down at your cup, stirring absentmindedly. “Yeah… sometimes.”

Nico’s voice lowered a bit, more serious now. “You’ve been texting me a lot this week. I like that. Feels like you’re letting me in.”

You looked up, a little shy. “I guess I am. It’s… nice talking to someone who actually listens.”

He smiled, a rare softness in his eyes. “I’m good at listening. Better at it than throwing punches, even.”

You chuckled. “I’m glad. I haven’t had many people like that around lately.”

Nico’s grin grew wider, but his gaze held steady. “Well, I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt your heart skip but kept your voice casual. “You really think you’re ready for this? Me?”

He shrugged, confident but genuine. “I don’t give a damn about the past. I want what’s next — with you.”

Your throat tightened. “That sounds… really good. Scary, but good.”

Nico reached across the table and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Scary’s okay. I’ll be here.”

You smiled, a little breathless. “I think I’m ready to try.”

He squeezed your hand gently. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

——

You sat quietly on Nico’s couch, the hum of the city outside filtering in through the window. Your nerves were a knot in your stomach, the newness of being here with him making you both shy and excited.

Nico noticed and nudged you gently. “You good, pretty girl?”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, just… a little nervous.”

He smiled softly. “Don’t be. I’m gonna grab you something to sleep in. Make yourself at home, alright?”

Grateful, you stood and headed to the bathroom to change.

You thought the bathroom door was closed tight behind you as you peeled off your day clothes, revealing a black silky bra beneath. The smooth fabric felt both daring and comforting.

Just as you were pulling on a soft oversized shirt Nico had left hanging, the bathroom door creaked open.

Nico stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” he blurted, quickly averting his gaze.

You flushed crimson but managed a small laugh. “It’s okay, you weren’t exactly trying to—”

He cut you off with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, definitely not. I’ll just… give you some privacy.”

He backed out and closed the door quietly.

You shook your head, heart pounding, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

—-

Later, in the quiet of his room, Nico sank down onto the edge of his bed, the memory of you—soft, shy, and daring in that black silky bra—hovering vividly in his mind. The way the fabric hugged you, the delicate curve of your skin… it stirred something fierce inside him.

His breath hitched as his hands moved instinctively, peeling off his pants, letting his cock spring free. He began to stroke, each movement deliberate and slow, as if trying to burn your image into his memory.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough. “(Y/N)… you’re driving me crazy.”

His fingers tightened around him as he whispered your name again, cursing softly, caught between wanting to see you and the ache of wanting you even more.

He closed his eyes, the heat building with every stroke, caught between longing and the desperate ache of wanting you near.

Nico’s breathing grew ragged as his hand moved faster, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside him. His grip tightened, every stroke sending waves of heat through his body.

“Fuck—fuck, (Y/N)!” he suddenly yelled, voice rough and desperate, his control slipping away.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and you stepped inside, eyes wide at the sound.

Without thinking, you hurried over, catching him just as he was about to lose himself.

Before he could pull away or stammer an apology, you pressed your hands to his chest and crashed your lips onto his— fierce, urgent, and full of everything neither of you had said out loud.

Nico froze for a split second, then melted into the kiss, heat flooding his cheeks as embarrassment and desire tangled together.

Pulling back slightly, breathless, he whispered, “God, you caught me… Shit, I didn’t expect—”

You cut him off with a teasing smile. “Well, now you’re not getting away.”

Nico’s breath was still heavy as he pulled back, eyes dark with desire. His voice dropped to a low growl. “Can I… take this off you?” he asked, fingers already brushing the hem of your shirt.

You swallowed, heart pounding, and nodded slowly.“Yeah… I want you to.”

His hands moved carefully, peeling your shirt away to reveal that black silky bra he couldn’t stop thinking about. His eyes traced every curve, and a slow, appreciative smile spread across his lips.“Fuck, you have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured, voice rough.

With deliberate care, his fingers worked the clasp at your back.“You’re driving me insane, baby.”

He slid the bra off your shoulders, letting it fall away, and his eyes caught the sight of your bare skin. His breath hitched. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down to press warm kisses over your collarbone and lower.

His lips found your sensitive nips, teasing, sucking gently. “You’re mine baby,” he growled, voice thick. “Every inch.”

Nico’s hands slid slowly down your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your hips as he carefully slid your panties off. His eyes darkened with hunger as he looked at you, vulnerable and breathtaking.

Without hesitation, he lowered his head, pressing right into your pussy making you jolt. he tongue flicked out in you , licking slurping, and exploring.

A shiver ran through your body, your breath catching as waves of pleasure rippled beneath his touch.

“Ahhh fuck Nico!!!f-feels good,” You moaned as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as your eyes fluttered shut, your head tilting back in bliss.

His voice was low and rough as he whispered against your skin, “You taste so fucking good, baby. I want to make you feel like you’re the only woman in the world.”

You gasped, your body trembling, completely lost in the fire he ignited within you.

You gasped, voice trembling as the waves of pleasure built inside you.

“I’m gonna—” you whispered, breathless.

But before you could finish, Nico pulled back, his eyes dark and commanding.

“Not yet,” he growled.

He shifted, guiding himself to your lips with a firm yet patient hand. “Show me how much you want me.”

You wrapped your lips around him, taking him in slowly at first, then faster as his breath hitched and his head fell back, lips parted, eyes clenched shut.

“Fuck, yeah… just like that,” he moaned, voice rough. “You’re driving me insane, baby.”

Your movements sped up, matching his growing need, and he cursed low and loud.

“God, you’re so good… shit—”

His voice cracked as he neared his edge, then he looked down at you, eyes dark with desire.

“Yeah?” he panted, biting his lip.

Nico’s breath hitched sharply, his body tensing as pleasure overtook him. Low, guttural moans escaped his lips, growing louder and more urgent.

You felt every tremor, every shudder, holding him gently as he gave in to the moment.

His groans filled the room, raw and unfiltered, as he melted into you—completely undone.

When he finally caught his breath, his eyes met yours with a mix of gratitude and desire.

“Fuck… you’re incredible,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Nico gently laid you back, his hands steady as he guided himself inside you, moving with a controlled, medium pace that had your breath hitching.

Your voice trembled as you moaned his name, “Nico…”

He leaned down, voice low and husky. “You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re mine tonight.”

You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please… harder. Don’t stop.”

He smirked against your skin. “You want it rougher, huh? You’re such a dirty girl, begging like that.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help the needy whimper. “Yes… I want you to fuck me harder.”

Nico’s pace quickened, hands gripping your hips tighter. “That’s it…. Show me how much you want me.”

The room filled with the sounds of your pleasure, his deep growls, and the heat between you building higher and higher.

Your head fell back, eyes rolling as waves of pleasure washed over you, words slipping into broken moans. The world narrowed down to the feel of him, the sound of his voice.

Nico’s own breaths were ragged and loud, matching your cries. His grip on your hips tightened as he leaned down, voice thick with need.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Goddamn, you’re driving me crazy,” he growled.

He kissed the curve of your neck, his words urgent and rough.

“You’re fucking incredible—so good at this. Keep taking me like this.”

Your moans grew louder, mixing with his curses and praises, a symphony of raw desire filling the room.

“Shit, I can’t fucking get enough of you,” he whispered fiercely.

Nico’s pace faltered just enough for him to lean in close, his breath hot against your lips.

“Kiss me,” he demanded, voice rough and urgent.

You barely had time to nod before his mouth crashed into yours, the kiss deep and messy, tongues tangling with unrestrained hunger.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating against him, and he hummed low in his chest like he was savoring every second.

His hands cupped your face, holding you there as if he couldn’t bear to let go, the kiss turning wetter, hotter, until you were breathless and dizzy from the mix of him and the moment.

“God, you taste so good,” he groaned between kisses, his lips moving back to yours without pause.

Your breath came in ragged bursts, your voice trembling as you gasped, “Nico—I’m… I’m about to—”

His eyes locked on yours, dark and determined. “Me too, baby.”

His pace quickened, each movement harder, more desperate, pulling broken cries from your throat. The room filled with the sound of both of you—your moans and his deep, unrestrained groans mixing together.

“Don’t stop—” you whimpered, nails digging into his back.

“Come with me,” he growled, voice almost breaking.

The heat between you snapped all at once, your body arching as waves of pleasure rolled through you, his own release following instantly. His loud, raw yell of your name was tangled with your cries as you both came together, clinging to each other like you’d never let go.

You were still catching your breath, your head resting against Nico’s chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat slowly steadying. His hand traced lazy patterns along your back as a grin tugged at his lips.

“I didn’t know you were that wild,” he teased, voice still a little hoarse. Then his tone softened. “Sorry if I went too rough.”

You looked up at him, a small, satisfied smile on your face. “It was perfect, Nico.”

His grin widened, and he bit his bottom lip before leaning down. “Yeah?” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

Pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, he whispered, “Let’s clean you up, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him guide you gently to the bathroom. His touch stayed careful, his movements slow and deliberate as he cleaned you, every gesture filled with quiet care.

When you both finally crawled back into bed, Nico wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. You felt him press a soft kiss to your hair as the world outside faded away.

“Stay here tonight,” he murmured.

You smiled against his skin, already feeling sleep tugging at you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The morning light felt softer than usual, but the second you stepped into your apartment, that peace was shattered.

Fuma was the first to spot you from the kitchen. Her eyes went wide, coffee mug halfway to her lips.

“Y/N… where the hell have you been?”

K appeared from the hallway, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face.

“She didn’t come home last night,” he said flatly, his tone already suspicious.

You froze, clutching your bag a little tighter. “I… was at Nico’s.”

The silence lasted about two seconds before Fuma nearly dropped her mug.

“Oh. My. God. You fucked him?!” She stopped herself only because K was standing there, glaring. “Wait—you did, didn’t you?!”

Your cheeks heated instantly, and you looked away, mumbling, “Maybe…”

K’s jaw tightened, but before he could say anything, Fuma let out an exaggerated gasp and grabbed your arm. “You totally did! Oh my god, no wonder you’re glowing right now—look at her, K!”

K pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “I don’t even want to know.”

Fuma, on the other hand, looked like she was living for the drama.

“Okay, details. Now. Every. Single. One.”

You laughed nervously, trying to brush past them toward your room. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Y/N!” Fuma whined, chasing after you while K called out from the living room,

“Don’t let him hurt you, or I’ll break his nose.”

The bell above the deli door jingled as you stepped inside, scanning the case for your favorite sandwich. You were halfway to the counter when a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Y/N?”

Your stomach dropped. Slowly, you turned — and there he was. Hwanjin.

He smiled like nothing had happened, like the past didn’t still sting. “Missed me?” he said casually, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about you… and I’m sorry. For all the things I did to you.”

His hand lifted toward your face, fingers brushing for a strand of hair — but you shoved his arm away, the contact making your skin crawl.

“Don’t,” you snapped, moving for the door.

But before you could get far, he followed you out onto the street, his voice low. “Hey—”

You quickened your pace, but he caught up, backing you into the shadow of an alleyway. The cold brick met your back as he closed the space between you.

“You used to like it when I held your hand,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over yours.

You yanked your hand away, shoving at his chest. “I said don’t touch me!”

His eyes darkened, and suddenly his arm lifted — just like old times — and your body reacted before your mind could, flinching hard.

But before his hand could fall, another caught it midair. Strong. Unyielding.

“Hands off my girl,” a deep voice growled.

Hwanjin’s head snapped toward the sound, his eyes going wide. “Nico?”

Nico’s glare could’ve cut through steel. “You so much as breathe near her again, you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Hwanjin’s mouth opened, then closed, his bravado crumbling. He gave a stiff nod before retreating quickly, disappearing down the street.

You felt your knees give out, and Nico caught you instantly, holding you against his chest.

“Hey, hey… I’ve got you,” he murmured, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other stroked your hair gently.

Your tears fell hot against his shirt, your body trembling.

“It’s okay,” he whispered again, his voice softer now. “He’s gone. You’re safe. I promise.”

—-

A few days later, the entire gym buzzed with an energy you hadn’t felt before. Nico was preparing for the biggest fight of his career—a championship match against none other than Jung Bohyun, a name that carried weight in the fighting world. The match was only days away, and you could see in every punch, every dodge, every bead of sweat that Nico was laser-focused.

You sat on the bench off to the side, chin resting on your hand, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you watched him work. His movements were fluid yet explosive, every strike making the heavy bag jolt on its chain. You couldn’t help but be amazed—not just at his skill, but at the determination burning in his eyes.

When his round ended, he grabbed a towel, swiping it across his jaw before making his way over to you. His skin glistened, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths as he stopped in front of you.

“You’re gonna win this, you know,” you told him with full confidence, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah?” he said, plopping down beside you so casually it made you laugh.

You nodded without hesitation. “Yeah.”

He chuckled lowly, leaning in just enough for his forehead to touch yours for a moment. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure I don’t prove you wrong.”

Before you could reply, he tilted your chin up and pressed his lips to yours—a quick kiss at first, then a deeper one that left you feeling breathless despite the humid gym air. When he finally pulled back, his grin was full of that quiet confidence you loved so much.

The night was electric as you, K, and Fuma finished getting ready, the excitement buzzing under your skin. You wore a sleek black halter top that had Fuma and K stealing glances, their smirks barely hidden as they joked quietly.

Backstage in the VIP area, you waited anxiously, anticipation growing as the pre-fight face-off with Jung Bohyun approached. But when the moment came to be with Nico, you slipped away from your friends, heart pounding as you followed him down the quiet corridors behind the scenes.

Once inside his dressing room, the door barely closed before his hands found you, pulling you close. His lips brushed against your neck, low and possessive.

“Been waiting all day for this,” Nico murmured, voice thick with need.

You shivered, breath hitching. “Me too. Feels like the whole world is watching out there.”

He pressed a finger to your lips, silencing your soft moan, his hand covering your mouth gently but firmly. “Not here. Here it’s just us.”

Your eyes locked with his, a spark of mischief and desire. “Then don’t stop.”

His grip tightened as he whispered in your ear, “I’m gonna make sure you remember this moment. No matter what happens out there.”

You bit your lip, nodding against his hand, your pulse racing in time with his.

Backstage, the world outside felt miles away. Nico barely closed the door behind him before his hands were on you—grabbing your waist, pulling you close. His breath was hot against your skin as he quickly tugged his pants down, urgency in every move.

With one swift motion, he lifted your dress, pressing himself against you. You gasped softly, muffled as his hand came up to cover your mouth, silencing you while his eyes locked on yours—dark, hungry.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “God, you drive me crazy.”

He began moving, slow at first, then gaining pace, each motion filled with raw desire. Your muffled moans echoed in the quiet room, the tension between control and abandon thick in the air.

You slipped back into your front-row seat beside Fuma and K, trying to keep your breathing steady. Fuma immediately turned, raising an eyebrow.

“So,” she said with a smirk, “where were you?”

You shrugged casually, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just… grabbing a drink.”

K snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. Fuma knows exactly what you were doing.”

Fuma gave you a knowing grin. “Oh, I do. And trust me, he did too.”

K rolled his eyes and muttered, “You and Nicok are disgusting.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at their teasing.

Suddenly, the arena lights dimmed, and the ring announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, cutting through the chatter.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s main event: a championship match for the title!”

The crowd’s energy surged as the announcer continued, “This is a 10-round fight, and both fighters are ready to give it their all.”

The spotlight shifted, and the announcer called out, “Introducing the challenger… Nico Wang!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd, and you, Fuma, and K joined in enthusiastically, clapping and shouting encouragement.

The announcer then lowered his voice for the final introduction. “And now, defending the title, the reigning champion…”

DING!

round 1.

The bell rang sharply, echoing through the arena as Round One began. Nico bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, eyes locked on Jung Bohyun across the ring.

He launched forward with confidence, throwing precise jabs and quick combinations that had the crowd roaring. His speed and skill were undeniable—he was clearly setting the pace.

But the champion wasn’t backing down. Jung Bohyun countered fiercely, landing several solid punches that rocked Nico’s guard and left him absorbing more than his fair share of hits.

You bit your lip, watching anxiously as Nico took the blows but kept pushing forward, refusing to back down. His determination was raw and fierce.

“Come on, Nico!” you shouted, voice steady despite the pounding of your heart.

Fuma and K echoed your cheers, the three of you leaning forward in your seats as the fighters exchanged blows.

Though Nico was clearly in the lead on points with his aggressive strategy, it was evident he was feeling the pressure from the champion’s power. The round ended with both fighters breathing hard, ready for what was to come.

DING!

round 5.

By Round Five, the atmosphere had shifted. The energy in the arena was tense as Nico stumbled slightly, his movements slower and more labored. Sweat poured down his face, and dark bruises had begun to form across his jaw and ribs.

He looked like he was done for—wobbly on his feet and gasping for breath—but his eyes burned with a fierce fire that refused to quit.

Your heart clenched in your chest as you watched, worry tightening its grip. You leaned forward in your seat, shouting through the noise, “Nico! You’ve got this! Don’t give up!”

Fuma and K’s cheers mingled with yours, but you could see the exhaustion wearing on him.

In your mind, you pleaded, Come on, Nico. You’re stronger than this. Keep fighting.

Despite the punishment he’d taken, Nico squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and blinked away the pain. With a guttural growl, he charged forward again, unwilling to surrender.

DING!

round 10.

The bell for Round 10 rang, but the energy in the arena had shifted into something almost electric with suspense. Nico and Jung Bohyun faced off, both battered and bruised, but neither willing to back down.

Suddenly, a fierce blow landed—hard. Nico’s knees buckled, and he crashed to the canvas, knocked out cold. The referee immediately dropped to his knees, starting the count.

“One… two… three…”

Your chest tightened as tears spilled over. You shouted through your sobs, “Nico! Get up! Come on, please!”

At count eight, just as hope was slipping away, Nico’s hand twitched. Then he pushed himself up, staggering but determined, eyes blazing with fire.

The champion’s face twisted in fury, and he charged at Nico, fists flying like lightning.

Nico raised his arms, blocking the savage attacks with desperate grit, refusing to crumble.

You noticed the champion’s movements slow, his breaths heavier, his punches losing strength.

And then—

Nico surged forward, unleashed everything he had left. His strikes came fast and fierce, like a beast unleashed.

A final, powerful blow sent the champion crashing to the canvas, knocked out cold.

The referee dropped down again, beginning the count over.

“One… two… three…”

You held your breath, the arena falling silent in anticipation.

The champion didn’t move.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the referee raised Nico’s hand high.

You collapsed into Fuma and K’s arms, tears of relief streaming down your face.

The final bell rang, echoing through the arena, signaling the end of the fight.

Without a second thought, you rushed into the ring, weaving through the crowd and stepping up to Nico’s side.

He looked battered and bruised but managed the most triumphant smile as you threw your arms around him.

With a joyful laugh, he swung you around, planting a big, fat, wet kiss on your lips.

“You were amazing,” you whispered, your voice full of pride despite his exhausted state. “I’m so proud of you,Nico.”

Nico chuckled softly, his breath ragged but eyes shining.

Just then, the champion slowly pushed himself up from the canvas.

He approached Nico with a nod of respect and extended his hand.

Nico took it, and they shook firmly, the tension between them melting into mutual admiration.

The ring announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner and new champion… Nico Wang!”

The crowd erupted in cheers as Fuma and K jumped into the ring, enveloping Nico in congratulations.

“Damn, you killed it, man!” Fuma exclaimed.

K nodded, clapping Nico on the back. “Seriously, that was one hell of a fight.”

You smiled, squeezing Nico’s hand, feeling the weight of the victory and the journey behind it.

[joiigurl]

Omg I need bp moots! 😭

[joiigurl]

Hi love!

Do you have a masterlist? I’d love to follow your work along! 🫶🏻

hey luv<3 I am creating my master lloyd soon , Iusr what to make it look pretty:) thanks so much that means alot ily 😭❤️

[joiigurl]

hiii, so i was reading the nicholas au, but i guess it got cut in the middle? or was that the end? (because if it was, i neeeeeed a part 2) [it ended at the smoking scene btw]

hi ! luv in there’s a part 2 coming soon….

[joiigurl]

“Champion’s prize” 🔞

Pairings: femreader! x &team!nicholas!

Synopsis: After surviving a toxic relationship, you find unexpected comfort and fierce protection in Nico—the undefeated boxing champion who’s as relentless in the ring as he is with winning your heart. But can you trust yourself to fall again?

Tags: Boxing AU ,Champion x Reader ,Post-Fight Sex , Locker Room Sex , Smut ,Oral Sex , Penetrative Sex ,Praise Kink ,Dirty Talk ,Rough Sex ,Semi-Public Sex , Aftercare ,Romantic Smut , Winner x Girlfriend ,Protective Boyfriend , Jealous Boyfriend , Fluff and Smut Mix Reader Insert Strong Language

Wc: 15.9k words

part one || part two (here!)

req: @hyebaragii0709 <3

The morning sun streamed through the windows of your flower shop, casting soft golden light over the neatly arranged bouquets. Carnations, sunflowers, baby’s breath, eucalyptus… everything was exactly where it needed to be. Everything, except your mind.

You wiped your hands on your apron, fingers trembling slightly as your phone buzzed again on the counter. Again.

“17 missed calls.”

You didn’t need to check the name to know who it was. Him. The asshole you’d barely clawed your way out from. The one who made you feel like love was a leash, not a light. The one who made you question your worth and then blamed you for bleeding when he was the one holding the knife.

Your chest tightened as the screen lit up again. Call #18. A text followed it:

“We’re not done. You don’t just walk away from me like that.”

Your stomach twisted, bile rising in your throat. You gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles pale.

And then—

SLAM. The back door flew open.

“Yo! Delivery for the prettiest boss in the city!”

K’s voice cut through the fog in your head like a lifeline.

“—And snacks. You looked like you skipped lunch again, didn’t you?” Fuma walked in right behind him, holding a brown bag that smelled like heaven and fries.

They didn’t have to ask. They saw the phone. The way your hand shook. The way you couldn’t even fake a smile this time.

K’s expression dropped instantly. He walked straight over, grabbed your phone, and turned it off without a word.

“Still him?” he asked, jaw clenching.

You just nodded.

Fuma gently placed the food down and wrapped his arms around you from the side. “You’re not alone, okay? That man doesn’t get to haunt you anymore. Not on our watch.”

“I’m trying,” you whispered. “But sometimes it still feels like I’m choking.”

K leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his eyes protective. “You’ve come too far to let him pull you back in. You left him. That takes guts. The kind most people don’t have.”

“Remember when she couldn’t even eat without throwing up?” Fuma added gently, rubbing your back. “We were literally holding your hair back while you cried into the toilet.”

You let out a shaky laugh, tears threatening. “You guys make it sound so cute.”

“It wasn’t cute,” K said, but he smirked. “But you? You’ve got this quiet strength now. You’re not the same girl who thought she needed that piece of shit.”

“And we’ll keep reminding you of that,” Fuma said, squeezing you before stepping back. “Every. Damn. Day.”

Before you could say thank you, the bell over the front door jingled.

In walked two men. One older — possibly mid-40s — in a sharp suit and looking rushed. The other?

The younger guy was tall, broad, and dripping in sweat like he’d just left the gym. He wore a black tank top that clung to his chest and shoulders, his tattoos crawling up his arms like smoke. A silver chain glinted against his collarbone. Eyebrow pierced. Lip ring. Nose stud. Fingers inked. That’s the first thing you noticed — not the rough cut of his jawline or how intense his eyes were — but that his knuckles looked like they’d been kissed by war.

“Afternoon,” the manager said, approaching the counter. “We’re from XXX Boxing — you’ve heard of it?”

You nodded slowly.

“We’ve got a big tournament this weekend. The winner gets a belt and a bouquet for press. Boss wants carnations — dramatic, bold, red — something that says, ‘I survived hell and still came out the other side standing.’”

You blinked. “Carnations. Got it. Red with a black trim could work, or—”

“Whatever you say, pretty girl,” the boxer interrupted, his voice low and amused. “I trust your taste.”

Your heart skipped.

You turned to him, trying not to visibly flinch when his gaze met yours. You were used to danger feeling like a threat. This… didn’t. He didn’t feel dangerous. He felt loud, sure. Intense. Beautiful in a way that didn’t feel real. But not scary.

Still, your body braced on instinct.

He noticed. And softened.

“I’m Nicholas,” he added, quieter now. “But everyone calls me Nico.”

“I’m…” You hesitated. Then forced it out. “Y/N.”

You didn’t flirt back. You couldn’t. Not yet. But your voice didn’t shake when you spoke. You met his eyes when he smiled. That was a win.

Nicholas tilted his head slightly, looking you over like he wasn’t sure whether to press or retreat. Then his eyes flicked toward K and Fuma, both standing protectively behind you like bodyguards.

“Friends of yours?” he asked.

“Family,” you said simply. “They keep me breathing.”

Nicholas nodded like he understood. “Then I like them already.”

—

Nico’s manager busied himself near the register, tapping away at his phone and mumbling something about press passes. You were wrapping the bouquet, your fingers steady now, the petals pressed just right, the colors bold just like the man standing a few feet from you — still watching you.

Nicholas leaned casually against the edge of the counter, not saying much at first. He had this relaxed confidence about him. Like someone who had nothing to prove, yet somehow made you want to look again.

You tied the black satin ribbon around the bouquet and reached for the tissue wrap.

“Y’know,” he said, voice low, “I’ve never seen someone make flowers look so badass.”

You glanced at him. “They’re just flowers.”

He smirked. “Not the way you do ‘em.”

You felt the heat crawl up your neck, and K didn’t miss it. He raised an eyebrow from the corner like he was ready to throw hands if this turned into anything more than friendly banter. Fuma just smirked under his breath, watching the scene play out like it was a drama he’d already predicted the ending to.

You cleared your throat. “You’re the one fighting for a bouquet, not me.”

Nico chuckled. “Touché.”

He stepped a little closer — not too close. Just enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne: something warm, woodsy, and a little dangerous.

“You free this Saturday?” he asked, his tone smoother now. “I want you to come to the fight.”

Your hands froze on the ribbon.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a sleek black envelope, and slid it across the counter to you. Gold lettering stamped across the front:

“XXX Invitational – VIP ACCESS.”

“Front row seat. No lines. No chaos,” he said. “You’ll be with my team. Safe. Cared for.”

You hesitated, staring at it like it might bite. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re the only person who looked me in the eye today and didn’t flinch. Because I want you there. And because you called those two your family…” —he nodded toward K and Fuma— “…so I know you’ve got good taste.”

Fuma gave a low whistle, clearly amused. K? Still stone-faced.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, heart pounding. “I’m just not looking for anything… serious right now.”

Nico smiled. Not in a smug way. In a gentle way.

“Didn’t say you were. But if you want a night out, some loud energy, and someone who won’t ask you to be anything but exactly who you are—” he pointed to the invite— “it’s yours.”

He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice like it was meant only for you.

“But if I win, I expect a red carnation from the artist herself.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “We’ll see.”

Nicholas straightened up, that same calm smirk on his face as he took the bouquet from the counter and slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Later, pretty girl.”

The bell jingled again as he walked out.

You stared down at the envelope. K walked over, arms crossed, eyeing you like a dad meeting your prom date.

“You sure about that one?” he muttered.

Fuma leaned over your shoulder. “He’s hot.”

You turned to both of them, lips twitching.

“I said I wasn’t ready for anything serious.”

“You also said that last week about chocolate cake and still ate half a slice,” K deadpanned.

You stared at the VIP pass in your hand.

Maybe… just maybe… one night wouldn’t kill you.

——

Saturday came way too fast.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in your room, adjusting the bodycon dress for what felt like the hundredth time. Black. Simple. Elegant. The kind of dress that clung to your body in all the right places and made you feel like maybe — just maybe — you hadn’t completely forgotten how to be seen.

Your open-toed heels clicked lightly against the hardwood floor as you stepped back, gave yourself a once-over, then grabbed your jacket.

Just a boxing match, you told yourself. Just a night out. No pressure.

You walked down the hall, nerves buzzing in your stomach, and immediately heard K and Fuma talking in the living room.

As soon as you turned the corner, the room froze.

“—Damn.” Fuma said first, eyes wide. “Who the hell let you out the house looking like that?”

K looked up from the couch. His jaw tensed for half a second… but even he couldn’t pretend not to be impressed. “You clean up alright,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “But where’s the pepper spray?”

You chuckled nervously. “Relax. I’m not going backstage or anything.”

“She says that now,” Fuma chimed in, grinning as he stood up. “But give it, like, ten minutes after Nico sees her and I promise he’s gonna forget how to throw a punch.”

You felt your cheeks heat up immediately. “Fuma, shut up.”

“Oh no no no,” he kept going. “I’ve seen the way that man looked at you. Like he wanted to press you into a wall and recite poetry.”

K groaned loudly, grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at him. “Dude.”

Fuma laughed and caught it, tossing it right back. “What?! I’m rooting for the soft-spoken florist and the tattooed menace! It’s a perfect combo.”

You hid your face for a second, flustered beyond words. “It’s not like that.”

“It will be,” Fuma sang.

K stood up, walking over to you slowly. He gently pulled your jacket up over your shoulders and helped you slide it on.

“All jokes aside,” he said seriously, “if he so much as breathes wrong around you, call me. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of a packed arena. You get me?”

You nodded, heart warmed. “Got you.”

“Good.” He fixed your collar like the mom friend he absolutely was. “Now go knock ‘em dead, flower girl.”

⸻

The arena was packed.

Bright lights. Roaring crowds. Blasting music. The kind of energy that lived in your chest and rattled your ribs. You felt out of place — heels clicking on the slick floor as you made your way to the VIP entrance like the pass said.

Security led you to a reserved seat near the ring. Dead center. Your name printed on a gold place card next to a chilled bottle of water and a black Phoenix Boxing hoodie slung neatly over the back of your seat.

Wait— hoodie? You picked it up.

“For Pretty Girl - in case it gets cold.”

Your stomach flipped. That was his handwriting.

Before you could recover, the lights dimmed. The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.

“And now stepping into the ring — undefeated, undisputed, the chaos behind the carnage… NICHOLAS. WANG.”

The crowd erupted. The spotlights swirled until they hit him.

And there he was.

Shirtless, of course. Muscles gleaming under the arena lights. Tattoos on full display — black ink coiled over his chest and shoulders, snaking down his arms. His hands were wrapped. His lip ring glinted as he smirked toward the crowd.

But then… His eyes found you. He stopped for half a second mid-step.

And then — He winked.

And tugged on the collar of his jacket where he had something scribbled in black marker.

You squinted and leaned forward.

Right over his heart were the words:

“Pretty girl showed up. Time to win.”

Your heart?

Dead. Melted. Absolutely incinerated.

You buried your face in your hands, half-laughing, half-panicking.

What the actual hell is this man doing to me?

——-

The bell rang.

Round 1.

The moment the fight started, the atmosphere changed.

Nicholas became a different person.

No more soft smiles or teasing words. No more wink-and-charm. In the ring, he was lethal. A walking weapon. Precision carved into muscle and instinct.

His opponent was taller — broader even — but you saw it right away: the difference. Nico didn’t fight like a brawler. He moved like a dancer with destruction in his veins.

He ducked the first punch with ease, footwork smooth, before snapping forward with a jab so quick it looked like a flicker of light.

Crack.

The crowd roared as his opponent stumbled back.

You flinched at the sound — it was so violent — but Nico didn’t even pause. He followed it up with two body shots and another sharp right hook that landed clean on the guy’s jaw.

You swore you saw sweat — or blood — fly from his opponent’s mouth.

Nicholas backed up, breathing hard through his nose, chest rising and falling like a storm trying to hold itself back. And then, in the middle of all that chaos —

He looked at you.

Grinned. Winked. Your thighs pressed together instinctively. Oh no.

⸻

Round 2.

His opponent came back with vengeance.

He swung hard, wild, angry now. But Nico stayed calm — dodging, bobbing, slipping under each punch like it was child’s play. His body moved like it had memorized the rhythm of the fight before it even started.

You could hear every grunt, every hit. The snap of gloves against skin. The echo of feet on the canvas. It was raw. Primal.

And then Nico landed an uppercut so savage the guy dropped to one knee.

The ref started counting. The crowd was going feral.

You couldn’t breathe. Your palms were sweaty, legs crossed, heart racing. But not from fear.

From him. From that look.

He glanced at you again, tongue running along his bottom lip like he knew what he was doing to you.

Fuma’s words suddenly made sense.

He looked at you like he wanted to press you into a wall and recite poetry.

No — he looked like he wanted to pin you against it and ruin every bad memory you ever had with his hands.

⸻

Round 3. Final.

The guy was barely hanging on. Bruised. Wobbling. Nose bleeding.

Nicholas? Barely sweating. His tattoos gleamed under the overhead lights, his breath steady, controlled. His arms flexed with every hit, and you could see the way his back muscles shifted beneath his skin as he cornered the guy.

You weren’t even watching the fight anymore. You were watching him.

The sharp angle of his jaw. The way his lip ring caught the light. The deadly grace of someone who knew his power and didn’t hold back.

Then came the final blow.

A left hook to the ribs, followed by a brutal right cross that sent his opponent flying against the ropes and down to the mat.

TKO. The ref stepped in. The crowd erupted.

Nicholas didn’t raise his arms right away. He turned to find you in the stands — wild hair, breathless, flushed.

He pointed straight at you. Tipped his head. And smirked. Like he knew.

Like he could feel what you were feeling from across the damn ring.

“Winner by knockout: Nicholas Wang!”

———

The noise of the arena was still echoing in your ears as you stood just outside the locker room hallway, heart in your throat.

Should I go back there? No, what the hell are you even thinking? It’s not like he was fighting for you. He was just— he’s just—

You glanced down at the VIP pass still hanging from your lanyard and sighed.

Fuck it.

You walked toward the backstage entrance like your legs were moving on autopilot, nerves crawling under your skin. As soon as you turned the corner, security recognized you and waved you through.

The hallway was cooler than the main room, quieter. You could hear laughter and movement coming from the locker room just up ahead. And then—

He stepped out.

Towel around his neck. Shirtless. Bruised knuckles. Hair damp. Tattoos slick with sweat and glistening like some kind of living artwork. His mouth was curved into a cocky smile until he saw you. Then it softened instantly.

“Hey.” His voice was low, breathy. Still glowing from the fight.

You took a hesitant step forward, eyes nervously darting around like maybe you’d change your mind and run.

“I, uh…” you started, voice embarrassingly small. “Just wanted to say congrats. You were… really good out there.”

Nico grinned, eyes lighting up. “Yeah?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. “Really impressive.”

“Was I good?” he asked again, stepping just a little closer. “Like… good good? Or ‘not bad for a cocky dude with a lip ring’ good?”

You bit your lip, looking away for a second. “You were…” You exhaled a soft laugh. “You were fucking amazing.”

Nico’s eyes flickered like he was trying not to smile too hard. Then he held up the bouquet — the one he had just won for being the last man standing.

“Then this is yours.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You blinked. “Wait, what? No— that’s yours. You earned it.”

He shook his head. “Nah. I told you if I won, I wanted a red carnation from the artist herself.”

He held the bouquet out to you with both hands. “But then I figured… fuck the tradition. You’re the only thing I saw after every round anyway.”

Your lips parted, heart stammering against your ribs.

“You don’t have to give me—”

“I want to,” he said firmly. “It’s not just some ‘thanks for showing up’ gesture. It’s because you got me through that fight more than anyone else. You think I hit that uppercut because I was pissed off? No. It was because I looked over and saw you biting your lip like that.”

Your breath hitched.

He took one more step. Close enough for you to smell the sweat and cologne again — rich, sharp, masculine.

“Let me take you out,” he said suddenly. “For real. Just one night. Just me and you. No ring. No chaos. Just… us.”

You froze.

You wanted to say yes. God, did you want to. But the hesitation crept in so fast it choked your throat.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just… not good at this anymore. I don’t trust— I don’t know if I’m ready. People always act like they’re sweet and then—”

“Then they fuck you up,” he finished for you. “Yeah. I get it.”

You looked up at him, surprised.

“I’m not gonna lie and say I’m perfect,” he said. “But I’m not a liar. I’m not your ex. And I’m not playing games.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dipping just for you.

“I’ll make it fun. Chill. I’ll pick you up, keep it casual. No pressure, no weird shit. If you’re uncomfortable at any point, I’ll take you home and won’t ask twice.”

You looked down at the flowers in your hands. Something tightened in your chest. Warm. Scary. But maybe not bad scary.

“…You promise?”

He reached out — slowly — and hooked his pinky with yours.

“I swear, pretty girl.”

Your lip twitched. “You really don’t stop calling me that, huh?”

“Not when it’s true,” he said, smirking.

You sighed, finally letting the tiniest smile slip through.

“…One date.”

He grinned. “That’s all I need.”

——

You waited outside his dressing room, bouquet still clutched in your hands, heart thudding like it had no fucking chill. Every minute felt like an hour. You were half-tempted to run, to bail, to ghost this entire night and avoid the weird feeling twisting in your gut — something between excitement and panic.

But when the door finally opened and Nico stepped out, fresh from the shower, hoodie slung low over his tattooed torso and damp hair pushed back—

You were done.

He looked like he should’ve been on a damn magazine cover.

And the way his eyes dropped to you?

Like the dress you were wearing had committed a personal offense against his willpower.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, stopping in his tracks. “You really went and did that, huh?”

You blinked. “Did what?”

He cocked a brow, stepping close, eyes dragging slowly over every inch of your body. “Wore a dress that fine and expected me to behave. That’s cruel as fuck.”

Your breath caught.

You looked away, flustered, fingers tightening around the bouquet. “It’s just a dress…”

“It’s not just a dress, pretty girl. It’s the dress. Fuck.”

You tried to hide your face, but he caught your chin gently with his fingers.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured. “You showed up looking like that, you knew what you were doing.”

You let out a breathy laugh, barely able to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know you’d be saying shit like that in my face.”

He smirked. “Get used to it.”

——

Fifteen minutes later, you were sliding into the backseat of his limo. Leather seats. Mood lighting. Soft music playing through the speakers like the universe was trying to set the mood for a movie.

You sat a little too upright, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

Nico sat beside you, legs spread wide, arm resting along the back of your seat like it belonged there.

He looked over at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to say something filthy.

You turned to him. “What?”

He gave you a knowing look. “Nothin’. Just thinking about how you’re the hottest thing I’ve seen all week and you’re sitting here acting like you don’t know it.”

You bit your lip hard. “You always talk like this?”

“Only when I really fucking mean it.”

You looked out the window, cheeks on fire.

He leaned in just a little closer. “Relax. I’ll behave. For now.”

You rolled your eyes. “That ‘for now’ sounded way too confident.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not dragging you to some fancy place where you can’t pronounce shit on the menu.”

He glanced at his phone, then leaned forward to talk to the driver. “Take us to that spot near the arena. You know the one.”

You raised a brow. “What kind of place is this?”

He leaned back, grinning. “Hole-in-the-wall Korean fusion joint. Family-run. Cheap, loud, fucking delicious. No fake vibes, no cameras, just good-ass food and my undivided attention.”

You blinked. “Wait… that actually sounds perfect.”

“Told you I’d make it fun,” he said, nudging your shoulder.

——

When the limo pulled up, it wasn’t some five-star place or overpriced rooftop bar. It was a little joint on the corner with neon signs, mismatched tables, and the smell of grilled meat and gochujang hitting you like a damn dream.

He got out first, jogged around to your side, and opened the door like a gentleman — except he immediately held out his hand, palm up, eyes locked on yours.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Let me show you what a real night out feels like.”

You took his hand. And maybe… for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel scared. You felt alive.

—

The moment you stepped inside, the warm scent of sizzling meat, chili paste, and sesame oil wrapped around you like a damn hug.

It wasn’t crowded. Low lighting. Hum of conversation. Some old-school hip hop playing softly through the speakers. Nothing about this place tried too hard — and somehow, that made it perfect.

Nico led you to a booth tucked into the back corner, near a fogged-up window.

He let you slide in first, then followed after, sitting close. Not in a creepy way — but definitely not giving you the full “I’m just a friend” buffer either.

Knees brushed.

His thigh grazed yours every time he shifted.

The server barely had time to say hello before Nico rattled off a familiar order, clearly a regular. Then he looked at you.

“You okay with spicy?”

You nodded, still flustered, still trying to keep your heartbeat under control.

“Cool.” He grinned. “The kind that burns your lips a little but makes you keep eating anyway. Like good decisions with bad timing.”

You chuckled. “You’re weirdly poetic for a guy who breaks noses for a living.”

“I contain multitudes,” he said, deadpan.

Food arrived fast. Dishes spread out across the table — bulgogi, kimchi pancakes, rice cakes, fried dumplings, glass noodles, sizzling pork belly. Comfort food on steroids.

You reached for the chopsticks.

He did too.

And when his hand brushed over yours — just a glancing touch — you flinched.

Like you’d been burned.

Your whole body tensed before you could stop it. And fuck — you hated that. You hated that some stupid reflex still had that much control over you.

Nico noticed immediately.

His hand froze. He didn’t pull away. Just rested it there, palm open on the table like an invitation, not a threat.

“…Hey,” he said softly, the teasing gone from his voice. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your throat tightened. You looked down at the chopsticks, heart crawling up your spine.

“Was it me?” he asked. “Did I—?”

“No. No, fuck, no,” you said quickly, voice breaking just a little. “It’s not you.”

Nico leaned in a little, brows drawn, voice still quiet.

“You okay?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to react like that. I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head, gaze patient. “Don’t apologize. I just wanna understand.”

You bit your lip hard.

You didn’t want to do this. Not here. Not when you were finally feeling like a person again. But the words were already pushing out of your mouth.

“My ex… he—” You stopped, jaw clenching. “He made me flinch. Even when I didn’t fucking want to. Even when I thought I was past it.”

Nico’s jaw tightened — not in anger at you, but like he was holding it back.

“Was it just emotional?” he asked gently.

“No,” you said. “He got physical toward the end. Mostly when he was drunk. Or when he thought I was embarrassing him in public. Or when I said the wrong thing.”

You laughed bitterly.

“I started hiding stuff. Bruises. Feelings. I stopped dressing up. Stopped going out. He wanted to control everything. Made me feel like I was always too much or not enough.”

You swallowed hard.

“So now every time someone gets too close or looks at me like they see me, my body doesn’t know if it’s safe. Even when it is.”

The booth went quiet.

You didn’t dare look at Nico — not until you felt his hand again, this time carefully placed over yours, warm and steady.

“Can I touch you?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

His thumb grazed the top of your knuckles, slow, like he wasn’t in any rush.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “You survived some real fucked-up shit. That doesn’t make you fucked up.”

You blinked fast.

“I flinched at you, and you’re saying you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” he scoffed. “I’m fucking pissed — at him. Not you.”

You finally looked up, met his eyes. And you felt it — that heat, that slow-building burn in your chest, the kind that wasn’t fear.

It was safety. Trust. Dangerous in a whole different way.

He leaned in just slightly. “You’re not broken. You’re just healing. And if all I get to be tonight is the guy who makes you laugh over kimchi pancakes and feel human again — I’ll take it.”

You looked at his hand over yours. You didn’t flinch this time.

You turned your palm up and laced your fingers with his.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s eat.”

And god, did that food hit different after that.

——

Dinner turned out better than you expected. Between bites of spicy food and Nico’s relentless teasing, the tension started melting. You talked about your flower shop; he talked about boxing. Somewhere between his jokes and your laughter, it got easier to breathe.

After the plates were cleared and the check was paid — which Nico insisted on covering — you both stepped into the cool night.

“You want to walk for a bit?” he asked.

You nodded, and without saying much else, he shrugged off his hoodie and gently wrapped it over your shoulders. It was warm and smelled like him — earthy and addictive.

Your hands brushed once. Then twice. The third time, he laced his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said quietly.

“What did you expect?” he asked, glancing over.

“Someone cocky. Who’d flirt and disappear.”

“I mean,” he smirked, “I am cocky. But disappearing? Not my style.”

You smiled.

A few steps later, he stopped walking. Turned to you under a flickering streetlight.

“I don’t know what this is, or what you want it to be,” he said. “But tonight’s real. You’re real. That’s enough.”

You swallowed hard. “And if I’m not ready for more?”

“Then it’s one night. No pressure. But I’ll make it one you won’t forget.”

You stared at him. Brave for once.

“Then keep walking.”

He squeezed your hand. “Gladly.”

And just like that, the two of you kept walking — no rush, no destination, just something quietly beginning.

—-

The city felt quieter the deeper you walked into it with Nico by your side. The shops behind you were closing, and the streetlights hummed softly overhead. Your fingers were still tangled with his — steady, warm, and making your pulse trip every few seconds.

At some point, he reached into his hoodie and pulled out a cigarette.

“You mind?” he asked, flicking the lighter.

You shook your head, watching as he lit the end and took a slow drag, exhaling toward the sky like it wasn’t fair for the night to be this hot.

Then he offered it to you.

You hesitated. “Oh I don’t— I haven’t in a while.”

He smirked, leaning closer, voice low. “One won’t kill you, pretty girl.”

You narrowed your eyes, took it, and brought it to your lips — inhaling a little too carefully.

He watched every second of it, eyes fixed on your mouth like he was studying a masterpiece.

“That’s cute,” he said, exhaling smoke through his nose. “You smoke like someone’s watching.”

“They are watching,” you muttered, lips wrapped around the filter again.

He stepped closer — just enough to close the space between your bodies, and your breath caught.

“Want me to show you how I do it?” he murmured, smoke curling around the edge of his smirk.

You nodded before your brain could stop you.

He reached for the cigarette, took a drag — longer, deeper — and then with no warning, he leaned in.

His hand cupped your jaw. And then he exhaled the smoke into your mouth. Warm. Slow. Intimate as hell.

Your lips parted on instinct, the taste of him and nicotine mixing on your tongue — and then—

You coughed. Hard.

Doubling over a little, heat rushing to your cheeks. “F—fuck—”

Nico burst into laughter, low and rough in his chest. “Holy shit, you’re cute.”

You covered your face, redder than you’d ever been. “Don’t do that! What the hell was that?!”

He grinned, tapping ash off the end. “It’s called a ghost. Relax, baby. You took it like a champ.”

“I choked.”

“Yeah, but you looked hot doing it.”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

He caught your wrist, eyes flashing as he held your hand in place between you.

[joiigurl]

sunghoon who have both your hands twisted behind your back, giving him leverage to fuck you even deeper, whispering dirty things like "why you runnin’ away? take all of this ma”.

🐞

i'm gonna bust everywhere THIS IS SO YUMMY

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), rough sex, overstim, restraint, spanking, brief choking, degradation, dirty talk

sunghoon has both of your wrists pinned behind your back, cheek pressed into the mattress while he slams his cock into you over and over from behind.

your eyes roll back from the immense pleasure, trying to slowly crawl your way forward before you fall apart under him. "why you runnin'?" he pants, pulling your hips back onto his pelvis. "you said you could take it, hm? acting like a dumb slut now."

you cry out as his tip grinds into your sweet spot, the discomfort of your wrists being held tightly together by one of his large hands mixing with the heat of him fucking himself deeper into you. "take it. take all of this, ma. don't fuckin' run."

his hips continue to snap into yours roughly, his only free hand gripping the flesh of your hip to pull you back, syncing your thrusts. "so tight—shit. this little pussy's sucking me in." he groans, your body going limp from how overstimulated you are.

when your whimpers turn to moans, he chuckles. "yeah, that’s it. now you wanna be good, huh?" he slaps your ass, then snakes his hand around you so he can grab your throat.

"mmphh, h-hoon—f-uck," your voice cracks, clenching around him as the knot in your stomach grows tighter. "you were made for this shit, weren't you?" he says, continuing to ruin you until you cum.

[joiigurl]

THROUGH THE FABRIC.

VOL. 15: you proposed a idea to spice up your sex sessions to your boyfriend and to say he likes it would be an understatement.

wc: 490 𑁛 explicit mature content 박성훈 x fem! reader clothed sex panty fucking (i think that's what its called) ⪩⪨ that's it. that's the plot. ❀ catalogue

note. asked @emisluvr for who in enha will fit and she picked sunghoon, so here it is!

It was an impulsive idea. When you proposed to your boyfriend, Sunghoon was taken aback. Like he didn’t expect that from you—his sweet, beloved girlfriend. He had to calm you when you were on the verge of blowing a fuse, telling you it’s fine and had to embrace you with his arms, whispering sugar-coated words to you. Which brings you to your current situation.

You’re spread out beneath him, looking absolutely divine that Sunghoon can’t believe you belong to him. The way the straps of your bra hang loosely around your shoulders and how wrecked you look when he hasn’t done much, nearly made him cum on the spot. 

“Shit, you’re fucking dripping,” he swore, eyes trailing down to your white, strawberries panties that has a visible wet spot—right over where your cunt was. “It’s for me, right? You’re like this because of me.” 

If you were sane enough, you would’ve replied with something snarky. But your mind blanked out, head tilting back against the pillow at the delirious friction of his cock rubbing against the thin, drenched fabric of your panties. Your pussy was throbbing, begging to be filled instead and for a brief moment, you scolded yourself for suggesting this in the first place. With his free hand, Sunghoon gave a light, teasing tug on your panties, tugging it higher so the fabric was swallowed by your plump pussy lips. 

“Sunghoon!” You cried out, mind clouded with nothing but pleasure. “P-Please.” 

“Please what? Tell me what’s in that pretty little mind of yours,” he coos, faux sweetness evident in his voice. 

“W-Wan’ you,” you sobbed, looking at him with teary eyes, hoping that there’s a small part of him who might show some form of mercy to you. 

However, it seems like today wasn’t your day. Your boyfriend lets go of your panties, chuckling at how you flinched when the fabric slapped your skin. He saw the way more slick dripped from your pussy and his mouth waters, itching for a taste but he held himself back. There’s always a next time or a later, in this case. 

“You want me? But isn’t this what you wanted, hm? Needy little thing,” he clicked his tongue in disappointment and disapproval. 

What you didn’t expect next was for Sunghoon to hook his finger through the centre part of your panties, shoving it aside and he pressed his hardened cock against your pussy, not pushing in. Instead, he merely stayed there, pulling your panties back together. He groaned when he’s able to see his cock clearly through your panties—a sign of how wet you’ve become. And it’s all because of him. 

You whined, trying to get him inside but he held you down by your hips. “I wouldn't do that if I were you. If you can be good and don’t move, I’ll fuck you later, hm? How does that sound?” 

Oh boy, looks like you’re in for a long night… 

tags list: @chuhees, @byshens, @hoonstqr, @doucious, @emisluvr, @riqomi, @onlyywwon, @jjung-v, @jun2ki, @rikisoup, @i-love-hannah-more-than-chan.

[joiigurl]

facetime- p. sunghoon

idol!sunghoon x noncelebrity!reader

summary: you facetime with your boyfriend who's on tour

tags: fluff, long distance relationship (at the moment), petnames (baby), short, wrote with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn

a/n: this one won the poll! hope you like it

you couldn't lie, when he was on tour you'd spend hours watching fancams and concert clips on tiktok just because you missed his face. you weren't jealous of his fans or the thirsty comments because you knew that at the end of the day sunghoon chose you. and you couldn't really blame them either, he was incredibly handsome.

sunghoon proomised you he'd call you everyday after the concert, which was sweet and cute the first times but as he got more far away the time difference only increased. now, when he calls you, he looks like a model and you look like a demon who hasn't slept in at least a thousand years.

you already had the phone in your hands when it rang, you answer immediately without even looking at the caller id, you didn't need to. sunghoon was sitting in a car, probably on his way to the hotel, it was dark around him and you couldn't really him, but you noticed how his face light up as soon as you picked up.

"hi baby", he whispered, his smile so wide, his teeth so bright they could replace the headlights. "the others are sleeping, i have to be quiet."

you shook your head, looked at him for a few seconds without answering. "it's fine, as long as i get to see you..."

i miss you.

you wanted to say it, but you ended up keeping it to yourself. you knew he knew, you knew he felt the same. his eyes spoke for him, he couldn't hide the way he'd stare with adoration when he thought you weren't paying attention, when you were caught up in your story about that one barista at the cafe.

[joiigurl]

nerd bestfriend!jake teaching you how to squirt… with his dick :)

a/n: uhm, im not back. but this shit is too good to not share😞

>>>>>>>>>>

“okay, so—fuck—” jake hisses, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, fogged up from sweat, “so the, uh, the anterior vaginal wall is—shit—right here.”

he adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing them up so your knees press to your chest, your pussy stretched wide around him, flushed and dripping. he’s buried deep, almost too deep, but you can’t think, can barely breathe, your hands fisting the sheets as you stare up at him.

he’s panting, face red, brows furrowed behind his glasses as he tries to keep himself from moving, trying to keep the “lesson” under control, but his cock keeps twitching inside you.

“j-jake,” you whimper, trying to move your hips, but he pins you down, glaring.

“stop, i’m teaching,” he snaps, but his voice is high, strained, as he tries to regain composure, pushing his glasses up with one trembling finger.

“a-anyway,” he continues, clearing his throat, “the g-spot is around two inches in, towards the belly button, and—fuck—when you stimulate it with the right pressure and rhythm—”

he shifts, pulling back slightly before rolling his hips forward, grinding against that spot, making your eyes roll back.

“you—ah, you feel that?” he stutters, his breath hitching, “th-that’s the—fuck, that’s the spot.”

your hands fly to his forearms, nails digging in, your body arching, “oh my god, jake—”

“and when you keep stimulating it, the skene’s glands—” he gasps as he thrusts again, “can cause—f-fuck—expulsion of fluid, which is—squirting—”

his voice cracks on the last word, his hips stuttering forward, cock dragging against your sweet spot again and again, your cunt fluttering around him.

“you’re clenching—shit, baby, you’re clenching too hard,” he moans, loud, glasses sliding down again as sweat drips onto your chest.

“jake, please, please—” you whine, tears pricking your eyes, your thighs shaking violently.

“s-shit, i’m—i’m trying to teach, okay?” he whines, loud and embarrassingly needy, “you just—fuck! you feel too good, it’s—so hard to—fuck!”

his hips snap forward harder, faster, despite himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tries to keep talking.

“n-need consistent pressure—like this—” he pants, grinding his cock deep, making you sob, “and—ah—angle towards the belly button, right there, right—fuck, right there—”

your vision blurs, a tight coil snapping as you scream, your body locking up before a sudden gush of liquid spills out around his cock, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything.

“holy shit—holy fuck—” jake chokes out, hips jerking, cock twitching inside you as he pulls out fast, wrapping his hand around himself.

he strokes himself frantically, eyes wide behind his fogged glasses as he cums, thick ropes spilling over your pussy, your stomach, some of it dripping onto your folds, warm and messy.

“s-sorry, fuck, sorry, you just—” he whines, shivering as his cum leaks between your thighs, “you just feel too—fuck! too good.”

you’re both panting, your body still shaking, your pussy still leaking from your first squirt, your skin sticky with his cum and your own mess.

he looks down at you, cheeks flushed, hair a sweaty mess, glasses crooked, before letting out a soft, breathless laugh.

“so, uh,” he says, clearing his throat as he pushes his glasses up again, “that’s… how you squirt.”

you smack his arm weakly, but you’re laughing, tears slipping down your cheeks, your heart pounding, your body warm, your best friend looking at you like you just gave him a reason to live.

[joiigurl]

I want to kiss his lips so bad…..

[joiigurl]

(alot of filthy shit going on here girly but i know you’ll love it 😈) read below the cut

—

The stars blinked above the parked cars, their soft glow barely competing with the massive movie screen ahead. You curled your legs up on the passenger seat, eyes wide, completely absorbed in the action scene flashing on the screen. Nicholas, however, hadn’t looked at the movie in at least twenty minutes. Not once.

His arm rested behind your head, fingers lightly brushing your shoulder. His eyes were glued to you like you were the main attraction. You didn’t notice at first—until he leaned in and whispered against your ear, his voice low and smooth.

“You’re seriously so pretty,” he said, gaze locked on your profile as the movie played on. “Like… insanely pretty.”

You blinked, glancing at him with a small smile. “Nico, watch the movie.”

“I am,” he murmured, smirking. “You’re the only thing I’m watching.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but he was already inching closer. “You don’t get tired of staring at me?”

“Never baby.” He dragged a finger along your jaw. “You have no idea how much I missed you this week.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. It had been days since the two of you fucked— too many schedules, rehearsals, interviews. All of it made it feel like you were just barely hanging onto each other.

Nicholas leaned in further, breath tickling your lips. “You’re glowing right now baby. You always glow when you’re not even trying. It’s driving me crazy.”

And before you could respond, he pressed his lips to yours—hard, hungry. His kiss was messy, impatient, filled with days’ worth of longing. Your fingers immediately tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to your waist and gripping you like he’d been starved. When you pulled away for air, his eyes were dark, lips swollen.

“I missed you,” he whispered again. “Missed this. Missed us.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. You just climbed over the center console, straddling his lap as the movie played in the background, forgotten.

His hands slid under your hoodie, fingertips dancing along your skin, rediscovering every inch of you like he needed it to breathe. The windows fogged up fast, heat building between you as your lips collided again and again—greedy, soft, desperate. The quiet hum of the car engine, the soundtrack of the movie, the blanket thrown lazily across your legs—it all felt like a dream. Like a night that belonged only to the two of you.

His voice was husky as he kissed down your neck. “Tell me if you want to stop…”

“I don’t,” you breathed. “I want this.”

And in the back seat, with the stars above and a movie neither of you remembered playing, you made up for all the time lost—with hands, with lips, with every quiet gasp and whispered name.

The moment his mouth found yours again, something shifted—urgency melting into something slower, deeper, more consuming. Nicholas guided you onto your back across the seat, his body hovering over yours, eyes burning with the kind of hunger you hadn’t seen in him for a while. Not like this. Not with this much need.

“You’ve been driving me insane all night, baby” he murmured, pressing hot, lingering kisses down your jaw, then your collarbone. “Sitting there looking all innocent while I’m losing my mind over you…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your breath already shaky, but when he dipped lower—his touch grazing your thigh, then his mouth was right in your pussy —you arched off the seat with a gasp.

“N-Nico—”

He just smiled against your skin, voice husky. “I missed this. Missed you like this.”

And then—he was everywhere. His hands gripping your hips, his touch firm and knowing. His lips leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses in places that made you tremble. You couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat, back arching, voice echoing through the car as he worked you open with devastating precision.

“F-Fuckkkk-“Your eyes rolling back as your hands flew straight in his hair.

“Louder,” he muttered into your skin, his tone breathless, full of heat. “Let me hear how much you missed me angel.”

You couldn’t help it—you were loud. Moaning his name, gasping for air, your legs shaking as you reached for anything—his shoulders, the window, the edge of the seat—anything to ground yourself.

The pleasure hit in waves, rolling through your body like fire, and all you could do was surrender to it, your cries filling the car, your fingers digging into his arms as he pulled you right over the edge. He pulled out before you reached your climax.

Nicholas looked up at you with a flushed face and a wicked smile, lips glistening, voice hoarse from earlier. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come undone angel.” And he wasn’t done with you yet.

Nicholas pulled you into his lap like he needed you there, like keeping distance for even one more second would physically hurt. The second you settled over him, chest to chest, his hands flew to your hips, gripping tightly.

“Damn,” he breathed, staring up at you like you were everything. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You were already breathless, your knees on either side of him, straddling his thighs in the cramped space of the backseat. His shirt had ridden up, your hoodie halfway off, and every inch of skin that touched sparked like fire.

You started to grind your hips on his cock, slow and teasing at first—but he let out a deep, broken moan that made your head spin.

“Don’t play with me Y/N,” he warned, jaw clenched, eyes dark. “You’re killing me, babe…”

But you weren’t playing. Not anymore. You needed him just as badly. You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his face, and he didn’t hesitate—his mouth was on both of your tits pushed together, licking—sucking hot and wet, hands roaming your body like he couldn’t get enough. Every bounce of your hips had him groaning, the sound raw and desperate as you both lost yourselves in each other.

He tugged you closer, your name falling from his lips over and over again like a plea, like a praise. You could barely breathe, barely think—your forehead pressed to his, your bodies moving in sync, the windows fogging up even more as the car rocked softly beneath the stars.

“You feel so good to me Y/n,” he panted, voice cracking. “So perfect —yeah fuck—just like that.”

You couldn’t stop the sounds leaving your throat—gasps, moans, soft cries of pleasure as his name slipped from your lips again and again. He was loud, too, not caring who heard. Not caring about anything except you. In the moment, nothing else existed. Just the heat.

Your movements had turned desperate—hips rolling, breath ragged—as Nicholas held you tighter in his lap, his hands digging into your waist like he needed to feel all of you, everywhere.

He looked up at you with dark, wild eyes and growled, “Kiss me.”

You barely had time to respond before his hand gripped the back of your neck and pulled you down into him, crashing his lips to yours.

The kiss was filthy—tongues clashing, lips parting, breath shared like you both couldn’t get enough. You moaned straight into his mouth, and he swallowed every sound like he was starving for it. His tongue swirled with yours, deeper and deeper, like he wanted to own every inch of you from the inside out.

“Nico—” you gasped into the kiss, completely overwhelmed.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. “Say my name just like that.”

And then—he pulled back just a little, his eyes burning into yours, breath hot against your lips.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded, thumb on your chin.

Your eyes fluttered, dazed but obedient, and when you did, he spat right into it—slow, dominant, eyes locked on yours.

“Good girl,” he growled, kissing you again instantly, mixing everything—your spit, his, your moans—into one dizzy, messy kiss that had you melting in his arms. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

Your hips kept moving without thinking, driven by the sound of his voice, the taste of him, the way he whispered “Just like that, baby” into your mouth like a spell. The windows were shaking. Your body was trembling.

And all you could say was, “Nico—please—don’t stop—”

“ Fuckkk—I’m close—,”

He let out a strained, guttural moan, hands tightening on your hips like he was barely holding on. “Fuck—*me too, baby—*just a little more—come on, come on—”

The car was rocking harder now, fogged windows rattling slightly, the leather seat beneath you squeaking with every frantic movement.

Your bodies were moving in complete chaos—sloppy, desperate, overwhelmed.

“Yeah, baby—” he groaned, head falling back before he forced his eyes back to you. “You feel so fucking good—I’m gonna—shit—I’m cumming—”

You both cried out at the same time—loud, raw, almost unfiltered.

His voice cracked as he grunted, “*Take it—fuck—*take all of me, baby—goddamn—”

The moment overtook you like a tidal wave. Your vision blurred, your body jolted, and all you could do was fall forward against his chest, panting hard, completely wrecked.

Nicholas was holding onto you like you were the only real thing left in the world, his heart pounding under your ear, his voice low and wrecked as he whispered, “You drive me insane baby… you feel too fucking good…”

Your hands stayed tangled in his damp hair as you both tried to breathe again, still tangled together, legs shaking, your head resting on his shoulder while his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your hip.

And through the haze, you heard him mutter one last thing against your temple:

“I’m never watching a damn movie with you again. This is the only show I want.”

I’m back babes!!! I absolutely LOVE any smut with tension and pining, just like “Room for two” and I also LOVE enemies to lovers!! Do you have anything in mind for those tropes but with Nico? 🤭

Love youuuuuuu •3•

Hi luv! thanks! omg you and i both 😵‍💫 hmmm…i was thinking of doing car sex with nico like you guys go to a drive by theater-

[joiigurl]

♡⸝⸝ 𝑴𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 & 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 🔞 𝜗𝜚

𝜗𝜚𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: hyperfeminine!reader! x darkcold!hyunjin!

𝜗𝜚𝓢𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: Dark, brooding Hyunjin gets dragged into a pastel makeup store by his hyperfeminine girlfriend—and snaps. One taste of her new lip gloss turns into hungry kisses, filthy praise, and desperate oral. Things heat up fast in bed: choking, eye contact, messy missionary, and her first time squirting. He praises her through it all, then kisses her sweetly and says, “Let me clean you up, dolly.”

𝜗𝜚 𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼: rough sex , praise kink, choking , anal & oral sex , p in v , blowjob , fingering , slut shaming, squirting , hj calls reader “dolly” , reader calls hyunjin “jinnie” , missionary , dirty talk , after care

𝜗𝜚𝓦𝓬: 3.3k (slight plot)

The bell above the boutique door chimed with a soft twinkle—like a fairy just flew through.The air inside was sweet, floral, and pink. Very, very pink.

Hyunjin didn’t belong here. He towered awkwardly behind you, dressed in all black from his leather jacket to the silver chains dangling from his jeans. His expression was unreadable, lips pulled into a bored line, hands shoved into his pockets.

You, on the other hand, looked like you belonged in a magical girl anime.

Pink lace dress, puffed sleeves, knee-high white stockings with satin bows, and those ridiculously tall chunky heels that somehow made you bounce rather than walk. Your high curly ponytail was tied with a perfect velvet pink ribbon, bobbing every time you turned your head to gasp at something sparkly.

You were practically glowing under the store’s pastel lights.

And Hyunjin—well, he looked like your emotionally unavailable vampire boyfriend who accidentally walked into a princess convention.

He tried to keep his head down as you squealed, dragging him deeper into the store by the hand.

“Come on, baby! They just released the new heart-shaped glosses. The glittery ones I told you about!” you said, practically hopping in excitement.

He grunted something under his breath, but didn’t let go of your hand.

You stopped in front of the display, eyes sparkling. “Ooh! Look!” You picked up a tester and turned to him, lip slightly jutted. “Can I try it on?”

He was already blushing. “You don’t need to ask me, dolly…”

You giggled and applied the gloss right there—slowly dragging the wand across your lips, pouting them, smacking them together gently. The shimmer caught the light, making your mouth look kissable and candy-coated.

Hyunjin swallowed hard. His hand clenched in his pocket.

“I want this one,” you declared proudly, dropping the tube into your little pearl-covered basket. “You okay, Jinnie?”

“Peach flavor?” he asked, voice low, eyes trained on your lips.

“Mhm.” You leaned in close and whispered, “Wanna taste?”

His jaw flexed. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

You grinned. “But I’ll kill you in pink.”

The soft hum of your playlist filled the pink-lit bedroom as you sat in front of your vanity, surrounded by open gloss tubes and their matching caps scattered like candy. The air was thick with sugary scents—vanilla cupcake, peach rings, and strawberry milk—each sweeter than the last.

You were glowing in the mirror, lashes curled, cheeks dusted with blush, and your lips glossy and glimmering under the light. Your dress rode up just slightly on your thighs, lace trimming brushing against your smooth skin as you leaned in closer to inspect your handiwork.

Hyunjin was on the bed behind you, silently watching you in the mirror. Eyes dark. Elbows resting on his knees. He was still in his all-black outfit, but his lips were parted now, jaw tighter than before. You could practically feel his gaze. Dark and stormy, hooded, dragging over every inch of your skin like he was undressing you with just a look.

“God, I love these,” you murmured, smacking your lips gently. “Baby, come help me choose. Strawberry milk or vanilla sparkle?”You twisted slightly to glance over your shoulder.

“Jinnie?” you cooed sweetly, eyes wide, head tilted. “Which one looks better on me?”

He stood up. Didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. Just walked over slowly—like a damn predator.

You could see it all over his face now. The hunger. The tension in his jaw. The way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was trying not to grab you too fast.

Then, voice low, rough, thick with something primal, he said:

“How about I do a taste test, hm?”

Before you could even react, Hyunjin grabbed the back of your chair and spun it toward him—

And crashed his mouth onto yours. No hesitation. No mercy.

His lips were hot and desperate, tongue already slipping into your mouth, licking into the sticky sweetness you’d just applied. His hands were on your thighs, dragging you forward to the edge of the seat, fingers digging into the lace of your stockings like he was seconds from ripping them off. You gasped into the kiss, fingers gripping his black shirt, but he didn’t slow down—he devoured you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, voice breathless and raw. “You taste so fucking good, dolly.” His nickname for you hit different in that tone.

Wrecked. Desperate. Completely lost in you. Your lip gloss smeared messily between your mouths, but you didn’t care. Neither did he.

He pulled back only a little, just enough to stare down at your swollen, glistening lips. “Strawberry,” he breathed, licking his own lips. “Definitely strawberry.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and flustered, lip gloss smeared across your mouth and chin, chest rising fast.

“Jinnie…”

He smirked darkly. “Don’t look at me like that, dolly. Unless you want me to make a mess of that pretty dress.”

Your thighs squeezed together automatically.And he noticed.

“Too late.” Your breath hitched as Hyunjin leaned down, still hovering over you from that soul-stealing kiss.

His gaze was feral—half-lidded, dark lashes casting shadows over those hungry, heavy eyes that were locked on you like you were the only thing in the damn world that mattered.

“C’mere,” he muttered lowly, voice gravelly as he gripped your waist. He lifted you like you weighed nothing, guiding you to the bed without breaking eye contact.

“Lie down, dolly.”

You did as you were told—back hitting the soft sheets, curls spilling onto the pillows, lace hem of your pink dress riding up with every subtle movement. Your breath was shaky, your chest rising and falling beneath the satin bows on your bodice.

Hyunjin stood above you for a moment, tongue running over his bottom lip like he was barely keeping it together.

Then his hands—big, veiny, and calloused—slid slowly up your bare thigh.Palms warm, fingers strong, grazing the curve of your leg with a maddening softness. You whimpered. His thumbs brushed beneath the lace of your dress now, inching it higher—exposing the soft flash of your pink, lacy panties.

“Fuck…” he breathed, eyes glued to the way the fabric hugged your hips. “You wore these for me?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed. “Only for you, Jinnie…”

That made something snap in him. He groaned like you’d just ruined him, then dropped down over you, pressing his mouth to your neck—hot, open, desperate kisses. Tongue dragging over your skin, lips sucking at your pulse, his hand still rubbing slow circles against the inside of your thigh. You moaned—soft and sweet—arching into his touch.

His hair fell over his face as you threaded your fingers into it, tugging gently. He growled at that, grinding just a little closer, his voice going straight to your core.

“You know what you do to me, dolly?” he murmured between kisses. “Walkin’ around in that fuckin’ dress—sittin’ pretty in front of your mirror like you don’t know I’ve been hard for you since the store.”

You gasped, legs squeezing his waist.

“You act so damn innocent, but you love this, don’t you? Bein’ my good girl. Bein’ my dolly—soft and perfect, all dressed up just to be ruined.”

His hand slipped under your dress entirely now, palm cupping over your soaked panties as his teeth grazed your throat.

“Drippin’ already? Shit, baby… I’ve barely touched you.”

“Jinnie—” you moaned, eyes fluttering, thighs trembling.

“You gonna let me make a mess of you, hm ?” he whispered, dragging his fingers along the lace until they slipped right where you needed them. “Let me fuck the lip gloss off your mouth, yeah?”

You nodded helplessly, heart hammering.

“Say it, dolly.”

“Please…” you whined breathlessly, gripping his shirt. “Please, Jinnie. Ruin me.”

And he smirked—wild and dark and utterly in love.

“Fuckin’ finally.”

Hyunjin kissed you passionately , his tongue slipping past your lips humming against you. His his fingers slid beneath the lace of your panties, warm and insistent. His touch was featherlight at first, teasing the delicate skin, then slowly more demanding — tracing circles over your slick, gathering your need.

You moaned into the kiss with your fingers tangling deeper in his soft black hair as he kissed a trail down your neck, biting just hard enough to leave marks.

“You taste like candy and sin, dolly,” he murmured, voice thick with want. “I wanna feel you dripping around my fingers.”

He slipped one finger inside you, slow and measured, watching your eyes flutter closed. Then another, curling them just right, his palm pressing against your clit through the lace.You moaned low, body arching, hips shifting forward to meet him.

“Fuck, you feel so tight,” he growled, thumb circling faster now. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name.”

His mouth found yours again — hot, rough, desperate — as he pushed two fingers deep, curling and pumping inside you with slow, tantalizing strokes.

“Tell me how good I make you feel, dolly,” he whispered against your lips, tongue flicking yours, “Tell me you want me.”

“Jinnie… please,” you gasped, voice trembling. “I want you. I want you so bad.”

He smirked against your mouth, biting your bottom lip before pulling away. “Good girl.”

His fingers moved faster, slick and wet, as his other hand slid under your dress to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he cursed, slipping one finger out then sliding two back in with a sharp thrust. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

You cried out, legs trembling as waves of pleasure pulsed through you. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as he kissed your jaw, neck, collarbone — devouring every inch of your skin like it was his last meal.

Hyunjin’s breath was ragged, voice hoarse as he teased, “Ready for more, dolly? Ready for me to fuck you senseless?”

Your only answer was a desperate nod, lips trembling as you begged, “Please, Jin… don’t stop.”

He growled and kissed you fiercely, pressing his body against yours.

Hyunjin kicked off his pants and boxers in one swift move, the cool air hitting his skin. You couldn’t help but stare—he was bigger than you ever imagined, and it made your heart race.

You leaned in without hesitation, lips brushing him softly at first. His breath hitched, a deep grunt escaping his throat. His hand shot to your hair, gripping gently but firmly, guiding you closer.

“Mmm? That’s it, dolly,” he murmured, voice low and thick with pleasure. “Fuck, yeah…”

With every movement, his praises came faster and heavier, words tumbling out between sharp breaths and loud, needy grunts.

“You’re so fucking good at this, baby.”

“Just like that, dolly, don’t stop… yeah.”

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy”

His grip tightened, fingers tangling in your curls as his body shuddered, every grunt more exaggerated than the last. You felt yourself melt under his touch and words, determined to keep him undone—his dolly, his everything.

Hyunjin’s grip in your hair tightened just enough to pull you closer, his breath ragged and voice low and gravelly.

“You’re such a pretty slut, dolly,” he growled, eyes dark with desire. “Yeah, that’s it… fuck, you’re so good…”

His words came faster now, broken up with sharp, exaggerated grunts that shook his whole body. His fingers tightened their hold as he urged you on, the pace quickening in response to your movements.

“God, yeah… just like that, baby, fucking don’t stop…”

“You’re making me lose it, pretty slut… yeah…”

Every praise was punctuated by deep, hungry grunts, his whole body trembling with the effort to hold back.

You felt heat pool low in your belly, heart pounding as you pushed yourself to keep going—because this was your Hyunjin. Your dark, wild, desperate Jinnie.

Hyunjin’s grunts grew louder, ragged breaths filling the room as his grip in your hair tightened just a little more. His body tensed, every muscle taut with need.

“You’re driving me crazy, dolly,” he gasped, voice rough and thick with pleasure.

“ S-s-shittttt~”he growled , he came undone, his whole body trembling as he released, breathing heavy against your skin.

You held him close, feeling the warmth and vulnerability beneath his fierce exterior.You looked up at him, lips still warm and slick, and swallowed every drop without hesitation.

Hyunjin’s dark eyes flashed with something fierce as he reached up, gently wiping your mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“Such a fucking slut, dolly,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

Without giving you a moment to respond, he pulled you close, crushing his mouth to yours in a deep, hungry kiss—like he wanted to claim you all over again.

His hands tangled in your hair as his lips moved against yours, rough and demanding, but full of something softer beneath the fire.You melted into him, his dark presence grounding you, his voice still whispering against your skin—

“Mine. Always mine.”

Hyunjin gently helped you onto the bed, positioning himself above you as he slid inside slowly, savoring every moment of closeness. His eyes locked with yours, dark and intense, never breaking contact.

You bit your lip and whispered, “You’re so good to me, Jin. Don’t stop.”

A slow, dark smile curled on his lips as he moved with measured rhythm, voice low and teasing.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, dolly. You like it when I’m inside you like this?”

You arched your back slightly, fingers clutching his shoulders. “Yeah… want you to fuck me harder.”

His gaze sharpened, voice dropping an octave. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Jinnie. Make me yours.”

He groaned, thrusting a little deeper, hand sliding down to cup your cheek. “You’re mine, pretty slut. Always.”

You felt the heat build between you both—charged with desire, connection, and the thrill of being completely seen.

Hyunjin’s pace quickened, each movement firmer and more urgent. Your breaths hitched, lips parting into soft whimpers and loud moans that filled the room.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice thick with need, eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing holding him together. “You sound so good for me. You like it when I go faster, huh?”

You trembled beneath him, voice shaky but daring. “Uhhh, Jinnie… harder. Don’t stop. I want you to lose control!”

His smirk deepened as he slightly picked up the pace, your moans got louder. he leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss—tongue swirling and teeth grazing, claiming you with fierce devotion.

“You’re mine, pretty slut,” he whispered between kisses. “Can’t get enough of you.”

Your voice was breathless, daring—

“Choke me, Jinnie… while you look at me.”

His eyes darkened instantly, lips parting in surprise as a deep, guttural sound escaped his throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, leaning closer, hips still rolling into yours, rougher now. “You’re so damn dirty—this what you want? Like this?”

His hand slid up to your throat slowly, fingers wrapping around your neck with firm but careful pressure—never too much, just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to feel owned.

“Look at me,” he ordered lowly, his eyes locked with yours as he started thrusting harder, faster. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when I’m ruining you.”

Your vision blurred around the edges, not from fear—but from the overwhelming pleasure that flooded every inch of your body.

Your moans came out broken, eyes rolling back as your chest bounced with each sharp thrust. His grip never left your neck, his other hand holding your waist still as he pounded deeper into you.

“You take it so well, dolly,” he panted, completely wrecked, sweat at his temples. “You’re so perfect for me… my filthy little angel.”

Every word made your body shake harder, the heat building fast, your hands gripping his wrists as you held eye contact through it all.

“Say you’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“Yours, Jinnie,” you cried out, voice trembling. “Always yours.”

He kissed you then—hungry, open-mouthed, desperate—like he couldn’t get close enough, like he wanted to swallow your moans straight from your mouth.

And you let him. You gave him everything.Your voice broke through the sound of skin meeting skin, breathless and high-pitched.

“Jin—I’m close, I’m so close…”

His hand slid between your thighs instantly, fingers finding your clit as his thrusts turned sharp, deep, relentless.

“Yeah? You gonna come for me, dolly?” he groaned, his jaw clenched, eyes wild. “I’m right there with you. Let’s come together.”

His fingers moved faster in time with his hips, grinding into that perfect spot that made your vision start to blur.

You gasped, words tumbling out senselessly. “I can’t—oh my god, baby—I-I’m—”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence. The pleasure was too much. It tore through you in waves, blinding, dizzying.

Your back arched, body trembling uncontrollably as you came hard—squirted, lights exploding behind your eyelids all on his face.Your whole body convulsed, thighs shaking, moans turning into broken cries.

“ Fuckkk~ dolly, you squirted,” he let a chuckle.

Hyunjin was right behind you, face buried in your neck, voice hoarse and loud as he lost control too.

“uhhh—yeah, fuck yeah,—shit i’m coming!—” his breathing became uneasy and groaned loudly as he shot out strings of cum all over your belly.

It was chaos and stars and heat and love, all crashing at once.

And when it was over, when the room was filled only with the sound of your heavy breathing and the faint hum of your bedroom lights, he didn’t move.

He held you in his arms.

“…Baby,” he whispered, stunned, brushing your hair off your damp forehead. “You just—”

He laughed breathlessly, dragging his hand slowly down your thigh, still trembling. “You made a mess, dolly. Fuck.”

His smirk grew darker as he looked at the wet sheets below you, still catching his breath. “You squirted all over me… you’ve never done that before.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, your voice soft and wrecked. “I didn’t mean to…”

He leaned in, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then just below your ear.

“I didn’t ask if you meant to,” he murmured low. “I’m just telling you… it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Then his voice dropped deeper, lips brushing your ear:

“Next time, I wanna see it happen again. While I’m watching.”

Hyunjin leaned over you, strands of his damp hair falling into his eyes as he kissed you gently—slow, deep, and warm, like he was trying to calm the both of you down after everything you just shared.

Your body was still buzzing, chest rising and falling as you clung to his arms, completely wrecked in the best way. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip with a crooked, loving smirk.

“Let me clean you up, yeah?” he murmured, voice still husky and breathless. “Made such a big mess of you, dolly…”

You nodded, cheeks burning, and he kissed your forehead before slipping off the bed. You watched as he grabbed a warm towel and one of your soft pajama shirts from the nearby chair—the black one he always stole from you.

When he returned, he knelt beside you, careful and gentle, his touch reverent as he wiped over your inner thighs and pressed soft kisses to your knees and stomach between motions.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, looking up at you with that same intense gaze, now softened by affection.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “Never better.”

He smiled faintly, leaned in to kiss you again, and whispered against your lips, “You’re unreal, baby. You know that?”

And when he finally pulled the covers over both of you and tucked you into his chest, he held you like he never wanted to let go. Because in his arms, you weren’t just his dolly—you were his entire world.

[joiigurl]

his soft brown eyebrows with blue contacts are doing smth to me-

[joiigurl]

I’m back babes!!! I absolutely LOVE any smut with tension and pining, just like “Room for two” and I also LOVE enemies to lovers!! Do you have anything in mind for those tropes but with Nico? 🤭

Love youuuuuuu •3•

Hi luv! thanks! omg you and i both 😵‍💫 hmmm…i was thinking of doing car sex with nico like you guys go to a drive by theater-

[joiigurl]

── ﹙✧﹚roomie Hee - f.reader, no established relationship, fingering, noncom sex, p in v, dirty talk, riding, reverse cowgirl, dom! Heeseung, chair gamer, tit sucking, messy, mdni.

"After the Shift : It's Always Him". Coming home from work, stressed out, and exhausted? Sounds pathetic. But, fucking your beloved roomie ( just like a few times before) could make the ending of your day so much better, couldn't it?

Heeseung had his headphones on, his gaze fixed on the monitor, his brow barely furrowed as his fingers swiftly scrolled across the mechanical keyboard. His other hand moved fluidly on the mouse, guiding his character through the digital corridors of a game he seemed completely absorbed in. The rhythmic click-clack filled the room, accompanied by the low murmur of his game's audio. Nothing else existed for him in that moment... until you did.

He didn't hear you open the door. Nor did he notice the presence creeping up behind his desk chair. The next thing he knew was the faint creak of the chair as it tilted slightly as your arms wrapped around his back, enveloping him in a warm, lazy hug, one of yours that seemed to say "I'm home now." And right after, your lips brushed his neck with a slow, gentle kiss, with that precision you knew how to use to unsettle him.

A sharp shiver ran across his skin. All his concentration vanished in an instant.

"Fuck..." he murmured, unable to hold back a smile, pausing the game with a quick tap of the keys. He immediately turned his chair toward you, and without thinking, pulled you onto his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if his body was already programmed to receive you.

You settled in as easily as one falls into a familiar bed. And he wrapped both arms around you, one hand resting firmly on your waist while the other caressed your leg over the thin fabric of his pajama pants. He looked at you with unabashed adoration. His voice lowered a few tones, as if speaking only to you.

"I didn't feel you arrive... Have you been here long? You're even showered already," he commented, amused, his lips brushing your forehead.

"A few minutes," you replied softly, allowing yourself to be pampered with that carefree docility that only he could bring out of you. "But I didn't want to bother you. I was in the mood for a hot shower before doing anything... I needed to let go of the day."

"Mmm." Heeseung lowered his gaze to your neck, and without another word, placed a slow kiss just above your exposed collarbone. Then another, just a little lower. His lips traveled with a delicious calm, as if they were surveying familiar territory. As he did so, his free hand slipped leisurely under your shirt, his warm palm caressing your abdomen with gentle, circular, attentive strokes.

"Did you have a rough day at the coffee shop?"

"Yeah, something like that," you replied between sighs. "Several crappy clients, an unbearable coworker, and the inventory was a mess. They didn't even leave me time for a proper lunch."

"Shit..." he murmured against your skin, placing a new kiss on the curve of your shoulder. "I'd love to punch the first person who made you frown with that pretty little face yours".

As he spoke, his fingers moved more freely beneath the fabric, tracing paths over your belly, barely moving up, then down, exploring with care. He didn't touch you hurriedly. He didn't need to rush. He knew you. He knew every exact place where your sighs grew longer, where your body responded first. And you responded without tension, without nervousness, as if you'd both been repeating this little ritual of comfort over and over again... without saying it out loud.

Your legs shifted more comfortably over his, and he laughed low in his throat, as if the mere weight of your body on top of him was an unexpected privilege. He kissed your neck again, this time letting his tongue graze the skin for a moment, just before letting out a whisper full of tenderness disguised as play:

"You smell like vanilla, it's so delicious. Did you know that?" His voice was deep, husky, yet soft at the same time.

That mix of yours that you knew so well how to evoke in him: a delicious calm and a desire that was already beginning to rise in his belly.

He didn't force it. He never did. But the touch of your body against his, the warmth of your skin against his chest, and that slight sighing sound you made when his hand slipped a little below your navel... were starting to unravel him. And you knew it.

It was an instant. The transition from innocent touch to sexual tension was so natural that the change was barely noticeable... but it was there. In the way your lips turned slightly toward his, in how his fingers paused for a second beneath your shirt and then continued more determinedly. Heeseung looked into your eyes, that expression tilted between mischievous and tender, as if he knew exactly what you wanted before you said it.

And then, it just happened.

His lips melted into yours in a wet, warm kiss, heavy with suppressed desire. It wasn't sweet. It was deep, heavy with tongue, saliva, and barely contained gasps. He kissed you as if he knew you by heart, yet each time was a new experience. Your mouth opened for him easily, and his claimed every corner with hunger, as if he could eat himself up the stress of your day through your tongue.

Meanwhile, his hand—already shamelessly bold—slid beneath the loose elastic of your pajama pants. And then he felt it: nothing. Not a single layer between his fingers and your heated skin.

He broke away from your lips just enough to laugh softly, his nose brushing yours, his eyes sparkling.

“Wow, it seems someone came with clear intentions from the start…” he whispered mischievously, his fingers gently brushing your pubis, barely touching you.

Your response was a half-smile, your eyes half-lidded in anticipated pleasure.

“Can you blame me?” you replied in a shamelessly sensual tone. “I’ve had a rough day… and you tend to be my main source of relief.”

Heeseung’s heart pounded in his chest. He felt like an idiot for how much he liked hearing you say that kind of thing. Because it was true. Because that trust between the two of you was addictive.

"Fuck..." he murmured through his teeth before kissing you again, this time with more hunger.

As his lips devoured yours, his fingers found your clit. You were wet, warm, as receptive as ever. And with slow but firm pressure, he began to rub you in circular motions, feeling you growing wetter and wetter beneath his touch. Your breathing changed, moans mingling with gasps and kisses, your body beginning to shudder gently against his.

Then he slid his fingers down, and without pause, he plunged them inside you. He felt everything: the warmth, the wetness, the way your walls closed in a delicious grip around his fingers.

You moaned against his mouth, your lips parting in surprise, and your hips arched against him instinctively. Your legs opened a little wider, shifting you across his lap to give him more access, so he could finger you properly, the way you knew he liked to do it.

Heeseung groaned lowly, feeling how easily you received him, how you adjusted yourself for him. His thumb rubbed your clit again as his two fingers moved rhythmically inside you, thrusting in and out with precision, his hand soaked in your fluids that made indecent sounds every time he moved.

And he didn't stop there.

With his free hand, he lifted your shirt until your breasts were exposed. It didn't take long for him to grasp them with that same shameless familiarity he used to touch you every chance he got. He groped them hungrily, squeezing firmly, kneading your flesh while his fingers played with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers until they hardened.

His mouth detached itself from yours and went straight down to your neck. He began to lick you slowly, his wet tongue leaving a warm trail on your skin. Then he nibbled just below your ear, causing you to let out a shaky moan. And while he marked you with those kisses you knew left a mark, his fingers remained inside you, moving in and out, rubbing your most sensitive spot with sure movements, dragging out the pleasure as if he knew he was making you melt.

The way you moaned against his ear, the way your body clung to his and your hips began to move on their own against his fingers... all of it had him on the edge. And he wasn't done with you yet.

Heeseung didn't stop. His fingers moved inside you with more determination, pushing hard, moving in and out as if he were fucking you with them. Each thrust was deeper, wetter, louder. The indecent sound of your juices running between his fingers began to fill his room, mingling with your broken moans that you could no longer contain.

Meanwhile, his mouth latched onto your breast. His tongue slowly circled your nipple first, licking the outline with the tip before sucking it hard, leaving it hard and sensitive between his lips. Then he captured it completely, sucking hungrily, while his fingers continued to penetrate you. His saliva mixed with the sweat on your skin, and you moaned louder, arching your back, tangling your fingers in his hair as if you wanted to melt him against you.

"Hee... fuck, don't stop," you gasped, breathless, trembling, feeling on the edge.

Your hips moved uncontrollably, grinding against his hand, and also against the hard cock that now formed a huge bulge under his sweatpants. Your ass rubbed against him with every shudder, pressing against that throbbing bulge as your insides contracted around his fingers.

Heeseung groaned against your chest, his voice muffled by his mouth, still eagerly sucking on your nipple.

"Shit... you're so wet, so tight. You're going to cum in my hand, aren't you, baby?" he panted, speeding up his fingers inside you.

And you did.

A ragged moan escaped your lips as you felt your body give out completely. The orgasm crashed through you like a violent wave you couldn't contain. Your legs shook, your hips jerked. You lay on his lap, your walls squeezing him with involuntary force as your juices flowed out in warm waves, soaking Heeseung's hand and soaking your pajama pants completely.

He held you steady, not letting you collapse, while he watched, fascinated, as you melted into his lap.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, his voice husky, his fingers still buried in your hot, throbbing pussy. "So beautiful, all trembling, making me wet like a good girl." And without taking his eyes off you, he brought his soaked fingers to his mouth. He licked them slowly, savoring every drop of your essence, shamelessly sucking them clean. "Mmm... you always taste heavenly."

Your legs were still trembling when you stood up with difficulty, breathing raggedly, your face flushed, and your eyes wet with pleasure. You pulled down your stained pajama pants and took them off completely, exposing your pussy, still glistening with moisture, not caring about anything other than what came next.

Heeseung, without taking his eyes off you, lifted his hips in the chair to pull down his sweatpants. He pushed them down his thighs with one hand, and his cock sprang free, hard, thick, and fully erect. His glans was red, glistening with the precum that already coated the tip. He held it tightly, pumping it slowly from root to tip, spreading the thick liquid with his palm as he shamelessly showed it to you.

"Look how you have me. Are you going to make me wait longer, or are you going to ride me right now?" he murmured softly. To which you let out a breathless laugh, still agitated, and looked at him with pure desire shining in your eyes.

"You're so fucking sexy like this, your cock looks perfect, so hard, and just for me."

That was all it took.

"Stop wasting time, baby. Get on me now and fuck me like you know how. I'm so hard." he growled, squeezing the base of his cock.

And you didn't hesitate. You turned around, climbed back onto his lap, and with one hand, guided his cock to your soaked entrance. You impaled yourself suddenly, without warning, burying yourself deep inside him with a low, raspy moan that reverberated in his chest.

"Fuck~" Heeseung arched his back, his fingers digging into your hips as he felt your pussy engulf him completely, hot, tight, and indecently wet.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on the edge of the desk, and began to move on him, moving up and down with determination. Your buttocks pressed against his thighs, your hips jerking hard each time you descended, and he helped you, holding you firm, setting the rhythm with each thrust from below.

You both moaned shamelessly, the sound of skin against skin and dripping wetness filling the room along with the deep sound of his breathing.

Your body moved over him with sweet desperation, impaling yourself again and again on his hard cock, each descent making you moan louder, rawer, more surrendered. Your buttocks slapped hard against his bare thighs, the wet, repetitive sound filling the room like dirty, perfect music.

Heeseung looked down at you with that mix of lust and tenderness that only he could sustain. His hands never stayed still; One trailed up your back, slipping under the barely-there shirt you wore, while the other descended to your hips and squeezed hard, guiding you in the rhythm you both shared without speaking.

"Look at you so perfect, all open for me," he panted, leaning forward to bite your exposed neck gently at first, then more firmly, marking you as if he wanted to leave permanent proof of that moment. "Your pussy takes me so greedily."

His words made you tremble as much as his thrusts from below. Because yes, he was moving too, and he wasn't moving gently. His hips thrust upward every time you descended, meeting you in a brutal midpoint, filling you to where you didn't know you could take him, hitting right where you needed him most.

His right hand moved up to your breast, cupping it firmly and kneading it as if it were his own—and it was—his fingers pinching the nipple as his tongue returned to lick your neck, now sweaty and sensitive.

“You feel so fucking good, so wet for me, this pussy is perfect,” he growled, lowering his voice in your ear. “You like it when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

“I love it, babe, don’t stop,” you moaned between gasps, your legs shaking.

Then his palm came down and gave you a firm spank, making your whole body vibrate. The dry sound echoed in the room, and you let out a louder moan, squeezing his cock harder inside you as you shuddered.

“That’s my girl, so receptive. You love it when I’m rough with you, hm?”

Another spank. And then another, each one leaving its hot sting on your skin. He didn't stop, he kept pounding into you from below, harder and harder. His cock slammed in all the way, making you jump, and you just held onto the desk, letting him take you however he wanted.

Your hips slammed into his, the rhythm becoming rawer, dirtier, more intense. Moans mingled with the slimy sound of your soaked pussy swallowing him whole, and the constant pounding of body against body.

But you wanted more. You needed it more.

"Hee~ more. Do it harder. Please pull me, fuck me like only you know how..." you begged, your voice breaking, and that turned him on even more.

Without stopping moving inside you, Heeseung moved his chair a little away from the desk, just enough to give him room. With a firm hand, he gently pressed against your back until your chest drooped, and your cheek rested on the surface of the desk, cool against your hot skin.

Then he grabbed your forearms from behind, one in each hand, and pulled them toward him, bringing your arms back. He held you like that, exposed, trembling, all for him.

"You look so beautiful like this, completely mine," he growled near your ear, panting, as he began to thrust into you harder, deeper.

His thrusts became wild, each thrust shaking your entire body, making you moan loudly with each thrust. You felt his skin against yours, his cock hitting your deepest spot, his hot breath on the back of your neck. And you still hadn't come undone.

The control Heeseung had over you in that position was absolute. Your arms were pulled back, held by his large, firm hands, your chest pressed against the desk, your hard nipples brushing the cold surface, your trembling legs spread over his thighs, and his cock pushing inside you as if it wanted to live there.

Each thrust was deeper, rawer. His pelvis slammed into your buttocks with force, shaking your body with each stroke. The sound of your moans mixed with his hoarse gasps, with the indecent thump of his wet cock sliding in and out of your pussy, filled the room.

"Listen to that..." he growled, thrusting deep into you, never stopping. "Your pussy is so wet it's begging me to never pull out."

His voice cracked, his tone thick with lust, panting, each word coming through gritted teeth. His hands continued to grip your arms tightly, using them as leverage to push you deeper into him, deeper and deeper.

You were lost. Completely subservient to the brutal rhythm of his hips slamming into you. Every time his cock sank in, your body spasmed, your walls throbbing and clenching desperately.

"Heeseung, fuck!" "Don't stop! Just like that...!" you screamed, your voice shattering.

"You're going to cum, aren't you?" he panted near your ear, his voice low, hot, vibrant. "I can feel you squeezing him... fuck, you're so close."

He sped up. The chair creaked beneath you, your skin crashing against his with each thrust, your moans now screams—broken, wet, uncontrollable—as his cock pounded mercilessly against your cervix. And suddenly, one of his hands let go of your arm to slide between your legs, rubbing your clit hard, with precise pressure, while his other hand pulled your arm toward him, not letting you escape his brutal thrusts.

"Cum for me, baby..." he roared. "Get my cock wet. Do it, come on, mark me."

And you did.

The orgasm exploded through you with such brutal intensity that you arched in your chair, screaming his name in a ragged voice. Your legs buckled, your back shook, and your pussy spasmed frantically around his cock. You felt yourself cumming so hard that fluid spurted between your legs, soaking both of your thighs and splashing onto the chair cushions in a hot, sticky wave.

"Fuck!" Heeseung gasped, completely out of control seeing you like this. "You're cumming like a fucking porn star all over me, damn it."

That broke him. He groaned hard, sank into you with one last brutal thrust, and came. His cock throbbed inside you and filled you with his hot cum in thick, hot waves, so deep you felt it overflowing inside you. He didn't stop thrusting until he emptied himself completely, until he was sure he'd put it all in, until his hips stopped shaking and his breathing was nothing but ragged gasps against your back.

The two of you stayed like that, pressed together, sweaty, breathing as if you'd run a marathon. Heeseung didn't let go of your arms right away. He squeezed your wrists gently now, his thumbs caressing your skin while his cock remained buried inside you, throbbing slowly.

"Like this..." he whispered, still panting. "This is how I always want you... flustered, trembling, all filled with me."

He leaned over you, placing a slow, wet kiss on your shoulder, while you still felt his semen slowly dripping from your insides and running down your thighs, warm and thick.

© 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ★

[joiigurl]

THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER !!

PAIRING: neighbor!hee x reader

Synopsis. It’s okay to get with a guy a few years older than you! Even better when he tries to ignore how beautifully charming you are!

NOTE: age gap relationship (4 years) lowkey was craving this … 6k words — enha masterlist

Summer clung to the building like it didn’t know how to let go: thick, heavy, and restless. You stepped out onto the shared porch between your apartment and the one next door, glass of cold water in hand, tank top sticking to your skin. It was late, but too hot to sleep. The porch light above flickered again, buzzing once before sputtering out. You rolled your eyes at it and leaned against the railing anyway.

Right on cue, you heard a door creak open.

You didn’t turn, not yet anyways, it took everything in you not to dissolve into a massive puddle of sweat already. You just took a sip and waited.

“Still broken?” came a familiar voice—deep, calm, and slightly amused.

Heeseung.

You turned slowly, letting your gaze move over him. Gray sweatpants, black t-shirt, and a screwdriver tucked loosely in his hand like he hadn’t really planned to use it.

“I was starting to think you were ghosting me,” you said, giving him a look.

He didn’t rise to it. He never did. That’s what made it fun.

“I keep meaning to fix it,” he said, stepping past you toward the light fixture. “Never got around to it.”

“Mmm.” You sipped your water again. “Typical man.”

He shot you a sideways glance. “You got something against men?”

You smiled, stepping closer. “Only the ones who ignore me.”

“I notice you,” he said quietly, still not looking at you.

He was always like this, too composed and unreadable for your liking. You’d met him two months ago when you moved in. He’d helped you carry one box, said your name once, and since then had politely ignored every attempt at small talk.

Well… Almost every attempt, you’d have to corner him and put him in situations like this to get him to talk to you.

He reached up, twisting at the fixture with slow, precise movements. You let your eyes wander, just for fun.

“You always dress like that at midnight?” he asked suddenly, voice low.

You looked down at yourself, what was wrong with the way you were dressed? Sure, the tiny shorts you had on were close to showing your bare ass and your tank top was so thin that anyone who looked hard enough could see the outline of your boobs, but that wasn’t your fault or anything. All you could do is shrug, “it’s hot.”

“You think that’s an excuse?”

“You’re the only one complaining,” you said. “Unless you want me to cover up?”

That made him pause, his face looking like he was contemplating. Then, with frustrating calm, he said, “Do what you want.”

You tilted your head, lips tugging into a smirk. “Oh, I plan to.”

The light above you buzzed again, sputtered, and then gave up entirely.

Heeseung stepped down from the small ledge and sighed. “Guess I’ll need a new bulb.”

“Or maybe it’s nervous,” you offered, brushing past him as you returned to lean against the porch railing. “Lights flicker when the energy’s high, you know. Too much tension.”

He glanced at you. “There’s no tension.”

“I beg to differ.” You said it too sweetly for it to sound mean. He didn’t reply.

You turned your head, watching him for a moment in the dark.

“You always this quiet?” you asked.

“Only when I don’t trust myself to speak.”

That one landed.

You straighten your posture, heart beating just a little faster, watching the way he shifted his grip on the screwdriver like he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but standing next to you on a warm summer night with too little light and too much want.

“I’m nineteen,” you said softly, stepping closer. “In case you were wondering.”

He looked at you now, scanning you up and down. Like it physically hurt him to do it. “You’re too young.”

“It’s not like it’s illegal or anything.”

“That’s not the point.”

You smiled. “Then tell me what the point is.”

Heeseung’s jaw flexed. He glanced at your lips. Just once. Then back at your eyes, “I think you know.”

Another silence stretched between you. And then, finally, he stepped back. Just once. Just far enough to feel like rejection.

“I should go,” he said.

“You always run away when girls flirt with you?” You teased, stepping yet another step closer to him.

“Only when I want to flirt back.”

Your chest tightened. But you held your ground.

“Goodnight,” he added, voice low.

You didn’t say it back. Just watched him disappear inside.

The porch was quiet again. No light. No breeze.

Just the glass sweating in your hand and the faint hum of something that felt like it had already begun.

⸻

Next to go was the sink.

A slow, rhythmic drip that turned into a small, stubborn stream. You’d tried tightening the faucet, even looked up a tutorial, but it kept leaking very loudly and very annoyingly. Just enough to ruin your night.

So naturally, you knocked on his door.

Heeseung opened it a little slower than usual, like he was deciding whether or not to answer at all. He was in the same black shirt as the night before, hair slightly messy, one hand braced on the doorframe.

You leaned against the doorjamb with an innocent smile. “Hi, neighbor.”

He blinked. “What’d you break?”

“I didn’t break anything,” you said. “But my sink might be having a crisis. Thought I’d ask the guy with the screwdriver if he wanted to play handyman again.”

He hesitated. “Have you told maintenance?”

“I could,” you said. “But you do such a better job,” your hand goes to slightly run down his arm.

His eyes narrowed slightly. You didn’t miss the way he looked at your bare legs before dragging his gaze away.

“Come on,” you added. “I’ll owe you one.”

Heeseung stared at you for a second longer, then stepped out of his apartment without another word.

⸻

Your apartment smelled faintly of vanilla and laundry detergent. He paused just inside the door, looking around like he’d stepped into dangerous territory — which, to be fair, he had.

You watched as he walked past the bookshelf crammed with poetry books and old Polaroids, past the record player and the half-melted candle on your coffee table.

He looked everywhere but at you.

“The sink’s in here,” you said, motioning to the small kitchen. “She’s leaking.”

He rolled up his sleeves and crouched down under the counter, grabbing the pipe. “She?”

“All misbehaving appliances are girls,” you said, hopping up to sit on the counter beside him. “Boys just short-circuit and die. Girls at least give you warning signs.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “You’ve thought about this too much.”

You let your bare foot tap against the lower cabinet. “I think about a lot of things.”

Heeseung didn’t respond. He was busy adjusting the valve, fingers working in steady, precise movements.

You tilted your head and watched him.“Ever been inside a girl’s apartment before?” you asked casually.

He paused again. “Not answering that.”

“So you have.”

He glanced at you, lips twitching. “What about you? Ever lured a man over with plumbing issues?”

“Only the ones who pretend not to like me.”

This time he did look at you straight on, like he was weighing something in his head. “You’re not subtle, you know that?”

Honestly, it made your knees buckle slightly. “No fun in being subtle.”

Heeseung turned back to the sink, jaw tight. You caught the way his hand flexed on the wrench. He was trying so hard not to look again.

“I think it’s fixed,” he muttered, standing up slowly.

You stayed seated on the counter, knees almost brushing his chest. He didn’t move away right away, toying with everything to make sure of his work.

You smiled. “That’s it? No bill?”

His voice was low. “Thought I’d add it to your tab.”

“And what’s on that so far?”

Heeseung’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second too long, then back up. “Trouble,” he said. “A lot of trouble.”

You grinned. “That’s the best kind of anything.”

He stepped back then… weirdly fast. Like he realized how close he’d let himself get. He wiped his hands on a paper towel and continued to look everywhere but you.

“You should be more careful,” he said, voice tight. “Inviting guys in like this.”

“Who said I do this with just anyone?” You bit your lip.

“You’re nineteen,” he said, like it was a defense.

You slid off the counter and took a step closer. “You already used that one.”

He backed up until his shoulder brushed the doorframe. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You stepped even closer, now just a few inches between you.

“Yeah?” you whispered. “Or maybe I just know exactly what I want.”

His breath caught.

And still, nothing happened.

You didn’t touch him. Didn’t lean in. You just looked him in the eye and let the silence carry every word you weren’t saying.

Then, calmly, you stepped back.

“Thanks for fixing the sink,” you said lightly, like your heart wasn’t pounding.

He opened the door to leave. But before he stepped out, he paused—one hand still on the knob. “Don’t do that again.”

You blinked. “What?”

“That look,” he said without turning. “Don’t give it to someone like me.”

Then he left.

And the door clicked shut, soft but final. But that ache under your skin? That feeling stayed.

⸻

He didn’t answer your texts.

Not that you’d sent anything obvious — no hey, where’d you go? or miss me yet? You weren’t desperate. Just strategic. Just playful.

Just one message:

u still alive or did the police get u

No response.

You weren’t surprised.

Heeseung had been doing the whole avoidance damage control routine like a pro. No more porch run-ins, no more accidental eye contact in the hall. Even his mail pile vanished earlier now, like he was timing it to avoid bumping into you.

It would’ve been impressive if it weren’t so stupid and if it weren’t you he was avoiding.

So on a sticky, slow Wednesday night, when the air felt like it was sitting on your skin and your playlist (full of tame impala and mitski like artists) had hit its third repeat, you decided to make a move.

Of course, not a bold one, you were too embarrassed. Just cookies.

Soft, warm, chocolate chip with flaky sea salt on top, the kind that melted in your mouth and made people forgive you for anything.

You boxed them in a clear plastic container, scribbled “for the grump next door” on a sticky note, and padded barefoot down the hall. You placed it on his doormat and knocked once. Then you walked away like it meant nothing.

And you told yourself that it didn’t, you were still young after all, this was just flirting.

But the next morning, when you opened your door, the container was sitting on your mat. Empty.

No note. No message. No thank you. Just a cleaned out tupperware that used to hold cookies.

You stared at it, your chest blooming with something smug and sweet, and said aloud to the hallway, “You’re welcome.”

⸻

Two days later, the door creaked.

You were already outside, tank top, loose cotton shorts, a half-melted popsicle hanging limply between your fingers. It was past eleven, and the sky looked like wet ink. Your skin was still damp from your shower, hair thrown up into a messy bun, strands clinging to the sides of your neck.

You didn’t look at him right away.

Just let the sound of his door echo like thunder.

Heeseung stepped out slow, like he was testing the air. Gray sweatpants again. A white shirt this time, sleeves pushed up his forearms. His hair was still damp too, probably showered after work. He leaned against the porch railing, almost mirroring you.

And no one spoke at this… at least not right away.

Until you broke the silence with a tiny, half-smile. “So you did like them.”

He didn’t turn his head. “They were alright.”

You licked a drip from your popsicle, letting the silence thicken.

“You ate all of them.”

“Didn’t want to be rude.”

You tilted your head. “Leaving the container without a note felt pretty rude.”

Heeseung finally looked at you then. Fully.

It was soft at first — just a glance, barely a pull of his brows. But then it dragged. Slowly. Over your legs. Your lips. The sticky pink smear on your wrist. His eyes flickered upward and met yours, like he hated himself for all of it.

“No more gifts,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Are you allergic to generosity or are you just emotionally unavailable?”

That almost got a smile. Almost.

“It’s confusing,” he said. “Makes it harder to pretend this isn’t…”

He trailed off.

You leaned forward, elbow resting on your knee. “This isn’t what?”

Another silence.

He didn’t answer. You didn’t need him to.

Heeseung looked exhausted, but not in the physical way, but like someone fighting a current he already knew was going to win. His fingers tapped against the porch rail once, then stilled.

“You looked better without the distance,” you said after a beat. “Three days of silence didn’t suit you.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”

“You’re hard to ignore.”

That one landed and his grip on the railing visibly tightened.

“Don’t do that,” he said lowly.

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like I matter.”

You stared at him, the popsicle melting slowly in your hand. “If you didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have baked you cookies.”

“Cookies aren’t—”

“You ate all of them, Heeseung.”

He looked away, biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to smile. He didn’t succeed.

You let the tension stretch, let him stand there knowing you were winning this round too. And when you were sure he wouldn’t speak again, you said, quietly “why does it scare you?”

Heeseung blinked, startled.

“Me. Us. Whatever this is,” you added. “You act like I’m dangerous.”

“Because you are.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sharp honesty.

He stepped toward you, slowly, arms crossed over his chest. He was still a full foot away, but something about the shift made the porch feel smaller.

“You’re young,” he said.

You stood.

“You keep saying that like it’s a spell. It’s not. It doesn’t make you want me any less.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Swallowed hard. “You’re playing with fire,” he muttered.

You took one slow step closer. “Then stop standing so close to it.”

That did it.

His jaw tightened, like the fight was slipping. His chest rose with something deeper than breath. His eyes dropped to your mouth again, then away, like he’d burned himself on the thought alone.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said.

You smiled, just a little. “I think you’re the only one who believes that.”

Another silence.

Then, quieter than anything else so far, he said, “Don’t flirt with people who might not know how to stop.”

You didn’t blink. “You just don’t want to admit you don’t want to.”

And then, like that, you turned. Walked past him. One bare foot after the other. But just before you reached your door, you paused. “I’ll leave it unlocked next time,” you said softly, not looking back.

Then you disappeared inside. And the door clicked shut like a promise. Heeseung didn’t move for a full minute. But his heart did. God, it did.

———

The sky was bruised purple, heavy with rain and the promise of a storm. You watched from your window as the first fat drops splattered against the glass, blurring the city lights into shimmering halos. The air was thick, charged, like the whole world was holding its breath.

Then the power flickered once, then twice and finally went out completely.

You sighed, the sudden quiet so different from the usual hum of the ceiling fan and streetlights. The apartment plunged into darkness except for the soft glow of your phone’s flashlight.

Perfect timing.

You grabbed a candle from your kitchen counter, lit it, and set it on the windowsill. The flickering flame threw dancing shadows across the room, turning your familiar space into something fragile and uncertain.

Just as you settled on the couch, the doorbell rang.

Your heart jumped and your mind grew curious, you weren’t expecting anyone especially not at a time like this.

Peering through the peephole, you saw him: Heeseung, soaked through, rain dripping from his hair and sleeves, eyes wild but holding something like relief.

You opened the door before you could think twice.

“Power’s out,” he said, voice low. “Thought you might need help.”

You swallowed the heat rising in your chest. “Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to come over.”

He stepped inside without waiting for an answer, shaking water from his hair. The smell of rain mixed with his natural scent, something earthy, warm, utterly him.

You moved aside, watching him carefully as he pulled off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” he muttered, scanning the darkened room.

You nodded, lighting another candle.

Heeseung sank onto the couch beside you, close but not touching. The silence stretched, heavy and electric.

“You never stopped,” he said finally, voice rough. “Not even when I tried.”

You met his eyes, bold and steady. “Did you want me to?”

He hesitated. “I wanted to do the right thing. But you… you make it impossible.”

You smiled softly. “Maybe we both stopped trying.”

Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the windows. Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your lips, then back up. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re not supposed to be,” you said. “That’s why it’s real.”

The storm raged on, but in the quiet darkness between you, something fragile and fierce was born.

His hand brushed yours, just barely and it was enough. Enough to say everything without a word.

———

The storm had passed, leaving the world washed clean and the air crisp with early morning quiet. You woke to soft light filtering through your curtains, the scent of rain still lingering in the cool air.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message from Heeseung:

“Coffee? I’m down the hall.”

You smiled, grabbed your robe, and padded barefoot to your door.

Heeseung was sitting outside, a steaming cup in each hand. He looked… tired. The rain had left his hair damp, and the corners of his mouth were softer than you’d ever seen.

“Morning,” you said, taking the cup he offered.

“Morning,” he replied, voice low but steady.

You both sipped in silence for a moment.

“Last night was…” you started.

“Too much,” he finished.

You laughed softly. “I mean—”

“No regrets,” he said.

You looked at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded. “You make me want things I thought I should ignore.”

You reached out, brushing a stray damp strand behind his ear.

“I’m glad,” you whispered.

His eyes met yours, open and honest and something more. For the first time, the space between you didn’t feel dangerous.

It felt like home.

————

You hadn’t seen Heeseung all day.

Not in the hall, not on the porch, not in the quiet hours of late evening when the light turned gold and sleepy. You tried not to look for him, but the way your ears perked at the sound of footsteps gave you away. You kept your door cracked longer than usual. You left a second mug on the counter like it was instinct.

Still, nothing.

Until 10:47 p.m., when three soft knocks tapped against your door.

You opened it slowly, and there he was.

Gray hoodie, hands in his pockets, hair damp from a shower (his hair is always damp!). He looked like he was about to say something casual, probably something like “just wanted to check on you!” but the moment your eyes met, it died on his lips.

“Hey,” you said, voice quiet, warm.

He swallowed. “You doing anything?”

You shook your head. “Should I be?”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Come with me.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to.

⸻

The rooftop was warm from the day’s leftover sun, and the air smelled faintly of concrete and summer wind. The city sprawled below in a thousand tiny lights. The hum of cars far off. Somewhere, someone played jazz through a half-open window.

You stood at the edge of the roof together, side by side, not speaking. The silence felt comfortable now, not awkward nor heavy. Just full.

Heeseung sat first, back against the short brick wall, long legs stretched out. You sat beside him slowly, pulling your knees to your chest, careful not to brush against him.

“Do you come up here often?” you asked softly.

“I come up here when I want to stop thinking.”

You smiled. “And how’s that going?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed somewhere far below, but his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against the concrete — like they wanted to reach for something but didn’t trust the space between.

“You always come up here?” you asked.

“Only when I can’t sleep,” he said. “Which is most nights lately.”

“Because of me?”

He looked over at you then, not smiling, not teasing but honest.“Yeah.”

The word landed like a ripple in your chest.

You let the silence stretch again, watching the way the wind tugged at his hair. How soft he looked in this light. How close.

“I thought you’d keep avoiding me,” you said.

Heeseung let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I did. For like five hours.”

“And then?”

“And then I wanted to see you more than I wanted to do the right thing.”

Your heart ached at that. Because it wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t clever. It was real.

You rested your chin on your knee. “What’s the right thing, anyway?”

He shrugged. “Not this.”

“But this is what you want.”

His voice dropped. “Yeah.”

You turned to face him more fully. “So take it.”

That hung between you — bold and unshaken. You didn’t look away. And he didn’t blink.

Slowly, his hand moved. Just his fingers at first, brushing against yours on the ground like they weren’t sure if they were allowed. You tilted your palm up.

He took it.His fingers threaded through yours — warm, steady, a little shaky. Neither of you said anything.

He looked down at your joined hands, then up at your face. His voice cracked just slightly when he spoke.“You make me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like I’m already halfway in.”

You smiled. “Nothing wrong with that. ”

His lips twitched. Then stilled.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Only that suddenly, his face was inches from yours, the air charged and humming between your mouths. He looked at you like he was waiting for you to stop him.

You didn’t.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, barely louder than a breath.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Please.”

And then — finally — he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t wild. It was quiet and aching, like something he’d been holding in too long, like a secret finally spoken. His mouth moved over yours slowly, reverently, like he didn’t want to miss a single second.

His hand cupped your jaw. Yours curled into the front of his hoodie.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together, breath mingling, hearts not quite steady.

“I’ve wanted that for a while,” he said.

You smiled, barely able to speak. “Me too.”

The wind stirred your hair. A car honked far away. Someone downstairs laughed.

But here, up on this rooftop, it was just you and him.

And something that had started slow finally beginning to catch fire.

———

Heeseung didn’t kiss you again.

Not right away. Not after the rooftop.

You’d both sat there for a while afterward, legs tangled, sharing secrets you’d never planned to say out loud. You told him how lonely the apartment felt some nights. He told you he hadn’t let anyone in, not really, in over a year.

Eventually, he walked you to your door and stood there for a long time like he wanted to be invited in. But he wasn’t ready and you didn’t force it. You just reached for his hand one last time and said, “Goodnight.”

He didn’t say it back.

He just watched you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he blinked.

⸻

The next day, he acted like nothing happened.

Not in a cruel way. Just careful. Neutral.

You saw him on the porch that morning — hoodie sleeves pushed up, coffee in hand. You waved. He nodded. Said nothing.

You tried to match it. You leaned on the railing like usual, bare legs tucked under you, hair freshly styled. The breeze played with the hem of your shirt, and you saw him glance over, quick and sharp — then back down to his phone.

You bit back a smile. He was failing at pretending. Badly.

Good.

⸻

That evening, your doorbell rang once.

You opened it to find a small white takeout bag and no one standing there. But you heard his door click shut a second later.

You brought it inside.

Inside was a container of tteokbokki — still warm — and a napkin with messy handwriting.

Eat something. You forget. - H

Your stomach fluttered like a traitor.

You texted him:

thank u. i’ll return the favor. don’t think this gets you out of round 2 tho.

No response.

But a minute later, you heard the sound of his microwave.

⸻

By the time the sun went down, the apartment was too warm to be comfortable. You sat cross-legged on your couch in shorts and an oversized tee, flipping through shows you weren’t watching.

You were thinking about the kiss.

How it started slow. How it stayed with you.

How he hadn’t touched you since — not even a brush of fingers — and how that made you want him more.

You heard footsteps outside.

His.

Then a pause.

Then a knock.

And you opened the door without hesitation.

Heeseung stood there, hoodie zipped halfway up, hands in the pockets, eyes unreadable.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You nodded and stepped aside.

He didn’t sit right away. He stood near the counter, like he was thinking of a reason to stay or an excuse to leave.

You leaned against the arm of the couch and said, “You didn’t answer my text.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to say.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not regretting it, are you?”

He looked at you then — long, hard, like the idea offended him. “No,” he said, walking forward. “I’m regretting not doing it again.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “So do it again.”

He didn’t wait this time.

He crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed you like he meant it — deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that spoke of every second he’d spent trying not to think about you. His hands found your waist. Yours tangled in the collar of his hoodie.

You pulled him down onto the couch with you, your knees bracketing his hips, mouths still pressed together. This time, it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t shy.

It was need.

He pulled away just enough to look at you, lips swollen, breath uneven.

“I’m trying not to move too fast,” he whispered.

You laughed softly. “I don’t care.”

His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan.

You stayed like that for a while — him curled against you, your fingers brushing through his hair, silence thick with everything unsaid.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

“This doesn’t feel casual anymore.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “That’s because it never was.”

⸻

It started with small things.

Like how he didn’t knock anymore.

Some nights, he’d just show up — hoodie tugged over his head, eyes tired, hands deep in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. You’d open the door without a word and let him in. Sometimes he brought food. Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he just wanted silence and your shoulder.

Other times, he kissed you the second you closed the door behind him.

Like he needed it. Like he couldn’t not.

One evening, around 9 p.m., he texted you:

I’m outside.

You found him sitting on the stairs just beneath your porch, arms resting loosely over his knees.

He looked up as you stepped out, then nodded for you to join him.

“I like when it’s quiet,” he said as you sat beside him.

You rested your chin on your knee. “Me too.”

He tilted his head, gaze soft. “You look different out here.”

“More peaceful?”

He shook his head. “More quiet.”

You smiled. “And you’re still sitting next to me.”

“That’s the problem.” He said it so easily now. Like he’d stopped fighting it.

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “What problem?”

He didn’t say it. He just leaned in and kissed you like an answer.

⸻

It didn’t take long for people to start noticing.

Not because you were obvious, but because the energy shifted. You weren’t flirting anymore. Not really.

Now, you looked at him like he was already yours.

And he looked at you like he hated how much he loved that.

One night, your upstairs neighbor passed you both in the hallway as you leaned against Heeseung’s doorframe, laughing too softly for anyone else to understand. She paused. Smiled.

“You two finally figured it out?”

You blinked. “What?”

She just waved her hand. “Nothing. It’s cute.”

Heeseung’s ears flushed pink.

⸻

The first time he stayed the night, it wasn’t planned.

It was a Friday. You’d had a bad day — some frustrating texts from friends, missed deadlines, your AC rattling like it was about to die. Heeseung showed up just after midnight with a bag of snacks, two cold cans of soda, and a promise to fix the AC.

You didn’t even make it through the first half of the movie.

You fell asleep with your head on his chest and his fingers tangled in your hair, both of you tucked into the corner of the couch like you were afraid moving would wake the spell.

When you opened your eyes, it was morning. The sky was pale and the city quiet. Heeseung was still there, one arm wrapped around your waist, his breath slow against your neck.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

⸻

Later, as he slipped his shoes on at the door, you watched him with your arms crossed and a sleepy smirk on your face.

“Next time, bring a change of clothes.”

He glanced back at you, already smiling.

“You planning on keeping me here?”

You shrugged. “We both know you don’t want to leave.”

He didn’t argue, only leaned in, kissed your forehead, and said,

“I’ll be back tonight.”

And he was.

⸻

It was supposed to be a quick trip.

Just groceries. Maybe some snacks. You’d texted Heeseung out of boredom, and he’d replied three minutes later with:

“Pick me up.”

So now here you were, in a corner aisle of a half-empty store, laughing quietly as Heeseung leaned over your shoulder to read the label on a bottle of soy sauce you didn’t actually need.

“I swear you only come here to flirt in front of the ramen.”

You tilted your head toward him. “It’s the most romantic aisle. Obviously.”

He grinned, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Then I guess I’ll propose in front of the instant miso.”

Your laughter echoed softly through the aisle. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t scandalous. Just a kind of closeness that said we’re comfortable here — in this in-between space of almost something, almost everything.

Heeseung tugged the cart behind him as you tossed in a bag of frozen dumplings. Your fingers brushed as you walked. You didn’t think twice before linking your pinky with his.

Neither of you noticed the guy standing at the end of the aisle.

Not until Heeseung froze mid-step.

You followed his gaze — and found a tall guy with messy hair and a smirk standing by the cereal section, arms crossed over his chest like he’d just stumbled across something way more interesting than Frosted Flakes.

“Hee?” the guy said. “Seriously?”

Heeseung’s hand slipped from yours instantly. His expression changed. Not guilty, exactly — but startled. Like something private had just been exposed to air too early.

You glanced between them. “Friend of yours?”

“Jay,” Heeseung muttered. “We… used to work together.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Used to?”

You stepped back slightly, giving them space, but Jay’s eyes flicked to you and then to Heeseung with a grin that said got it.

“I was just grabbing cereal,” Jay said, lifting the box like proof. “Didn’t realize you were busy.”

Heeseung shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s not—”

“Relax,” Jay cut in. “I’m not judging.”

He looked at you again, this time a little differently — not rude, not intrusive. Just curious.

“You his girlfriend?”

You opened your mouth, but Heeseung beat you to it.

“She’s… someone.”

Jay blinked, caught off guard. “Okay.”

Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re not really… telling people yet.”

Jay gave a small, knowing nod. “Then I didn’t see anything.”

You smiled a little. “Thanks.”

Jay winked at Heeseung. “She’s cute. Don’t mess it up.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the next aisle, humming to himself like the world hadn’t just shifted.

⸻

In the car afterward, Heeseung was quiet.

You didn’t press him. You let the silence sit, warm and humming, like tension without teeth. It wasn’t until you pulled into the parking lot that he finally spoke.

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like I’m ashamed.”

You looked over at him. “I know.”

He turned toward you, hand resting between your seats, thumb brushing yours gently. “I just… wasn’t ready for anyone to see it yet.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything, Hee.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “I know. But you do.”

You raised a brow. “Me?”

“Yeah. You deserve someone who’s proud of it. Of you.”

The words sat heavy in your chest — heavier than you expected. You squeezed his fingers. “Then be proud.”

He looked at you, then down at your joined hands. “I’m trying,” he said softly. “Just… don’t let go while I figure it out.”

You leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

You expected him to disappear.

Not fully — but to go distant. To start second-guessing what this was, what you were. After all, someone saw. Someone knew. And the last thing Heeseung had ever been was careless.

But he didn’t go anywhere.

He texted you later that night:

Home safe?

You left your hoodie in the car. Smelled like strawberries.

Might keep it.

You stared at the last message for a while.

Smiled.

Didn’t answer.

Let him sit with the feeling of wanting more.

⸻

The shift didn’t come all at once.

It came in the details.

He stopped sitting on the other side of the couch. Now he pulled you into his lap like it was second nature, held you while you talked, laughed into your shoulder when you made a joke.

One afternoon, you were curled up with your legs across his lap, flipping through a magazine you weren’t really reading. He was scrolling through his phone. You glanced over at his screen and realized he was typing your name into a playlist.

“She likes sad music” was the title.

You tried not to melt. Failed.

⸻

A week later, you made the mistake of calling him your friend in front of a delivery guy.

“Yeah, my friend’s inside—he’s just grabbing the—”

“Friend?” Heeseung called from the kitchen. His voice sounded innocent, but you knew better.

You leaned against the wall, calling back: “Do you want me to say situationship to the man dropping off pizza?”

He poked his head out from the kitchen, holding two soda cans. “Roommate with benefits?”

You blinked. “That makes it sound like we split rent and trauma bond.”

He walked over, handed you a can, leaned in to kiss your cheek.

You were very aware of the delivery guy watching through the half-cracked door.

“Boyfriend,” Heeseung said, voice low against your ear. “Next time, just go with boyfriend.”

Then he turned around like he hadn’t just lit your entire chest on fire.

⸻

You didn’t call him that again.

Not for a while. But he’d said it. And the word kept echoing in your head, soft and dangerous.

The real surprise came on a Sunday.

You had fallen asleep on his couch after a long day, curled into a ball with your face pressed against his hoodie. It was raining again. Heeseung sat across from you at the kitchen table, scribbling something in a notebook you didn’t know he used.

When you woke up, he was gone.

But a piece of paper had been tucked into your hand. Folded once. Smelled faintly like his cologne.

You opened it slowly.

I’m bad at saying it, but I’m not scared anymore.

I want to stay.

———

It started with music playing too softly from your phone.

A lazy morning. One of those cloudy, sleepy Sundays where the world felt distant — the kind where time stretched long and warm and slow, and the only thing that mattered was the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and the boy sitting on your floor, quietly tying the laces of your shoes.

He looked up at you after the second knot, dark hair flopping into his eyes. “Your laces were a mess.”

You blinked. “You tied my shoes?”

“I live dangerously.”

You smirked. “You’re soft.”

“You like that.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Later, you were on the porch — two mugs, one blanket, and Heeseung sitting with his legs stretched out, back against the wall, his eyes somewhere on the horizon.

You watched him, the way he looked more at home now. The way he no longer pulled away when you touched him. The way he let his hand rest on your thigh like it belonged there.

“You never said what that note meant,” you said softly.

He didn’t look at you. Just reached for his mug. “I thought it was pretty clear.”

“It was,” you admitted. “But I want to hear you say it.”

He stared into his coffee like it might give him the words.

Then, without ceremony, he said:

“I want this. I want you.”

You looked at him.

He still wasn’t smiling. But he was serious — in that quietly terrified way that people are when they’re finally telling the truth.

“I’m not good at big declarations,” he added. “I won’t do the speech or the fireworks. But I’ll wake up next to you. I’ll know your coffee order. I’ll call you when the streetlights turn on just because I know you like the sound of my voice at night.”

Your heart pulled tight.

“I’ll stay,” he said. “If you want me to.”

You didn’t speak.

You just leaned in and kissed him — soft, slow, like an answer. Like a yes.

He kissed you back, but he smiled this time, too. You felt it. You tasted it.

When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.

“You’re already here,” you whispered.

Heeseung nodded. “I know.”

———

That night, you shared his bed for the first time. Not rushed. Not messy.

You brushed your teeth together, bumping elbows. You stole his t-shirt. You crawled beneath his blankets and let him hold you like the world would still be waiting in the morning.

He fell asleep with one hand over your heart. And when you woke up — warm, tangled, safe — he was still there.

Not leaving. Not running. Just yours.

In all the ways that mattered