#Jung HoSeok | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ninetailedfoxmanchi · 7 hours ago

Text

Mafia! BTS - You Get a Job as Their Assistant

A/N: I'm so turning this into a series 🦊

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

Your friend Lucas got you the job when you reconnected at your high school reunion. You were fresh out of college and although this wasn't exactly your dream job, it was a good opportunity until you could find something in your line of work. It was your first day and you couldn't have been more nervous. Your friend, who was a bodyguard for the boss, didn't say much about what the company did but the pay was more than generous so you accepted.

Jin

A lady from human resources showed you to your desk. You were at the topmost floor of the skyscraper and had to pass half a dozen security points before you reached your new job post.

"Here are all of your passwords," said the lady whose name you had sadly forgotten immediately after the introduction and handed you a sheet of paper. "You guard these with your life, you hear me? Best if you memorize them all and destroy this - don't just throw it anywhere," she warned and fixed her glasses. You nodded although you couldn't help but feel like it was all a bit excessive.

You sat down behind the large desk and signed into all of the programs listed on the sheet when suddenly a young man walked right past you and made for the office.

"Excuse me, you can't go in there," you said as you quickly jumped up and came around your desk.

The young man turned around and took in your presence. He measured your face and waited for you to look away but you were confident not to mess up your first day.

"Why not?" he asked politely. You were caught off guard for a moment by his good manners as you were prepared for nothing short of a heated argument.

His amused gaze shifted between your eyes as you collected your thoughts.

"You need to make an appointment first," you cleared your throat and stood your ground. A small smile crept into the handsome man's eyes as he watched you with an equal measure of interest as you him.

"Is Mr Kim in his office?" he asked almost quietly.

"No, he is not here at the moment but like I said, I can schedule an appointment," you restated politely with a small smile that refused to leave your lips under his warm brown eyes.

"Do you know when he will be in?"

"I don't but I can inquire if you wish," you crossed your arms over your chest, feeling like you're knocking it out of the park protecting your boss's office.

"That's okay," said the man softly as the corner of his lips curved into a small smile.

The elevator door slid open with a chime, making both of you turn around. The lady from HR rushed towards you.

"Mr Kim! I'm so sorry, I was going to speak to you about the new hire this morning but as your schedule changed-"

"It's alright, Margaret," said the man and realization hit you. Heat rushed up your neck and settled in your cheeks as your eyes grew wide and your mouth went dry.

"This is Mrs Y/N - she will be your assistant whilst Iseul is on maternity leave," said Margaret and gestured towards you.

"We've just met," said Mr Kim with a smile so warm it would have melted your heart if not for the absolute embarrassment you were suffering through. He offered you his hand and you shook it.

"I'm really sorry, Mr Kim," you said quickly as Margaret's gaze switched between the two of you in confusion.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Mrs Y/N," he said, his eyes smiling. "You were excellent. Very..." He measured you for a moment. "Confident."

You couldn't help but laugh as you felt anything but although his attempt at reassuring you helped. He smiled and you knew you were done for. Butterflies woke in your stomach and your heart felt as light as a feather.

Namjoon

It was a few minutes to eight when you walked into the company elevator. You felt good because the idea of being late on your first day of work had been stressing out you all night. The instructions sheet they gave you prior to your two-day training explicitly said in bold how Mr Kim valued punctuation and you were even going to be a few minutes early today.

You pressed the number of the executive floor and just as the door began to close, a hand caught it open. A tall young man joined you in the elevator. You offered him a smile when he entered and made some space. His eyes lingered on your smile for a moment as if it caught him off guard. His perfume filled the elevator although your fragrance had the same effect on him only moments ago. He looked at the elevator buttons but apparently you went to the same destination.

You wondered what he did in the executive floor. Maybe Mr Kim had two assistants and you would work together although that didn't seem likely given how elegantly this man was dressed and how he carried himself.

The elevator stopped halfway up and let in two more passengers: an older and a younger man.

"Ah, Mr Kim," greeted the older and made you freeze. "We've just taken care of the thing we discussed last night," he informed the man who was going to the executive floor with you. Your eyes fixed on the three figures beside you as you tried to make sense of it. You wanted to slap yourself for not googling what your boss looked like but you were sure he was an older man that you'd recognize as the CEO in an instant.

Mr Kim's gaze caught your eyes and you looked away immediately, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. You looked ahead of yourself until the two passengers got off. The door closed and again it was just the two of you.

"You're Mr Kim Namjoon?" you asked him after a few moments. Your tone was polite and yet confident as you turned to your boss. He looked at you amused, interested and surprised at the same time although he hid those emotions as fast as he showed them.

"I am," he said, his quiet voice coming from deep within his chest.

"I'm Y/N L/N," you introduced yourself and offered him your hand in shake. "I'm your new assistant."

You could see something shift in his hard eyes although you couldn't tell what it was. He accepted your hand, losing it in his large one.

"I'm sorry for not recognizing you earlier," you said as your hands grew clammy holding your elegant bag. You were good at showing confidence even if in truth you were nervous or afraid.

"It's alright," said Mr Kim genuinely although his voice remained a deep rumble. There was only a few floors left to the top. "You came at a high recommendation from your boyfriend, Mrs Y/N."

You looked at your boss, your eyebrows raised and your body frozen.

"What boyfriend?" you blurted as your expression quickly turned into a frown. The amusement and interest returned to Mr Kim's eyes.

"Did Lucas say he is my boyfriend?" you asked in all confidence as the thought made you angry. You had your suspicions that he might have liked you but you didn't want a job offer where something was expected in turn other than friendship.

"Perhaps it's my mistake," said your boss, his quiet but powerful voice grounding you. A gentle smile gathered in his eyes.

"In any case, I am not dating anybody," you concluded calmly although no less proudly. You were sick of people, even your friends and family, telling you to find someone or try to belittle you for being single. You enjoyed being alone and you were done having others attribute your value on the basis of having or not having a boyfriend.

The elevator door opened and both of you waited for the other to exit first. When Mr Kim didn't move, you thanked him and exited although you could feel his eyes burn through your neck.

Yoongi

It was your first day at work and it's been a long time since you had been this nervous. If it were a job more closely related to your field of interest, you might have felt more confident. This was something you accepted just because the pay was excellent and there were no other opportunities presenting to you.

The HR had you in for a two-day preparation and made you learn a protocol sheet of conduct, your boss's habits and all of the dos and don'ts.

You've been at work for two hours already but the office was empty. You knew from his schedule that Mr Min was in a meeting on the other side of the city.

You looked up when the elevator door opened, revealing a gloomy and even formidable-looking young man. He walked with a purpose, deep in thought, and didn't pay you the slightest mind.

"Excuse me!" you said and jumped from your chair as you saw him march straight for the office. You weren't allowed to let anyone in without your boss's presence or explicit permission.

"Excuse me, you cannot go in there," you said and stepped in the man's path. He stopped although for a moment you thought he might just storm through you. He was someone who worked out because his frame was twice the size of yours; if he wanted to enter the office, there was really no realistic possibility of you stopping him. Still, your crossed your arms over your chest and refused to let go of the eye contact.

The young man's gaze shifted between your eyes. He was like a cat deciding whether to scratch you or grant you some of his attention.

"If you want to see Mr Min, you have to make an appointment first," you said more gently. His dark eyes studied you further until you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. For as much as you tried not to think about it, he was so handsome it made your heart flutter.

"But I'm Mr Min," he said slowly and calmly as ever as you grew aware of the small gap of space between you.

You stared at him, your eyes wide and your neck prickling with heat.

"But he's old," you blurted out loud and caused a smile in your boss's eyes. For some reason you had gotten it in your head that 'Mr Min' was an older man with graying hair and possibly a goatee.

"I'm not that old," he said slightly amused as if he did actually feel old despite his early thirties.

"But... You don't drink coffee?" you kept blurting out all the wrong things, the things you remembered from your protocol sheet. He narrowed his eyes at you no less amused. His hard, gloomy features were slowly melting and made your cheeks even redder.

"I drink coffee," said Mr Min. His voice was deep and rolled slowly.

You nodded, "But decaf and you prefer tea."

"I prefer tea now," he agreed. It was your turn to study him. His outfit, his watch and his shoes, the assured way in which he stood and spoke.

Your hands grew clammy as you smoothed down the sleeve of your elegant shirt. "I'm sorry," you began, feeling your heart rise to your throat. "I just had a... a different mental image of who my boss would be," you explained heavily and waited for him to fire you on your first day.

"I hope it changed for the better," said Mr Min, catching you off guard.

"Of course," you confirmed almost too quickly and he nodded. As he walked past you to his office, you remembered the protocol sheet again.

"Do you want some tea?"

He turned around and studied you. The smile spread from his eyes to his lips, waking up the butterflies in your stomach.

"Sure," he nodded and disappeared into his office. You shut your eyes because you knew you were done for.

Hoseok

It was your first day as the assistant in one of the most profitable companies in your area. You had barely made it to the office when the phone rang, asking coffee to be brought for your boss who was on his way. You grabbed your purse and the company card they gave you and went to the nearby cafe to grab a double-shot-of-espresso iced Americano.

"First day and already taking coffee breaks, huh?" asked a familiar voice when you returned to the company. You stopped on your tracks in the middle of the lobby and saw your friend Lucas.

"I'm just teasing you," he grinned when he saw the puzzled expression on your face. "How's it been so far?"

"Hi, sorry," you shook your head a little and smiled. "Good, they just showed me the programs and the technical stuff this morning, so..." You nodded.

"Good, great," Lucas nodded as well. "You look nice," he said and touched your shoulder before he left.

"Thanks," lingered on your lips as your face grew warm. You couldn't find the time to think twice about it, though, and hurried to the topmost floor.

You smoothed your skirt and fixed your shirt before you knocked on the door and waited for the invitation.

"Come in," said a voice absently. You entered the office, trying to keep as much confidence as you could.

"Good morning," you said politely. You almost stopped on your tracks when you saw a young man sitting behind your boss's desk although you quickly realized it was actually your boss. For some reason you had expected an older man, maybe in his fifties.

"I have your coffee, sir," you said as you set down his iced Americano. Mr Jung looked up from the documents that have been keeping his attention. His eyebrows furrowed into a frown as his eyes burned through you.

"Who hired you?" he asked and took you by surprise. You stared at him for a moment, you gaze shifting between his intense dark eyes.

"I... The human resources?" you spoke much less confidently as when you first entered the luxurious office.

Mr Jung stared at you, his frown only worsening.

"I was told your previous assistant is permanently indisposed," you tried although your intonation was still more that of a question rather than a statement.

Something shifted in Mr Jung's hard gaze. "Right," he said almost indifferently, then finally looked at you properly.

"Who are you?" he asked, not impolitely.

"I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N, your new assistant," you introduced yourself and offered your hand. "If you'll have me." You tried to lift the mood some.

Mr Jung's gaze moved to your hand then back to your smile.

"Jung Hoseok," he said as he finally accepted your hand in shake. Mr Jung stood up behind his desk. "Lucas's recommendation," he thought out loud as he narrowed his eyes at you. The attention made fever gather up your neck and cheeks.

"Yes, sir," you confirmed although something about your boss intimidated you. You thought you were confident but he was so self-assured of his actions that it made you uneasy.

His eyes measured yours once again. "Thank you, Mrs Y/N."

"Of course," you gave a small nod and a smile before you turned on your heel and hid the feverish blush that colored your face on your way out.

Jimin

You sat down at your desk and watched your superior disappear in the elevator. A breath of relief escaped your lungs followed by an even greater anxiety. Your boss wasn't in yet according to the HR lady but you still needed to take phone calls and schedule meetings.

You smoothed the white cuff of the tailored shirt you had bought especially for your first day at this job. When they gave you the instructions, dress code was one of them. It's not that you usually didn't look put together, it's just that the position made you nervous as it involved an entire protocol sheet of rules and a good outfit always spiked your confidence.

The phone rang suddenly and you answered without thinking of what you were going to say.

"Mr Park's office," you said instinctively as your face flushed and you felt as if you had never had a conversation before in your life.

The person introduced herself. She was some businessman's assistant and wanted to schedule an appointment. You turned to the computer and checked your boss's schedule.

"How's Thursday-" you suggested when suddenly you noticed a young man in front of your desk. He wore a dark suit and a crisp white shirt. His hands were resting in his pockets as he studied you.

Your eyes grew wide as you forgot your words but the assistant on the other side agreed on Thursday. A small smile of amusement crept onto the man's lips. You finished the call and got up.

"I'm Y/N," you introduced yourself and offered your hand. "You must be Mr Park."

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he accepted your hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs Y/N." The smile shifted from his lips to his eyes.

"Walk with me," he invited and you followed, grabbing your tablet on the way. You told him the schedule for the day as he lead the way into his office. He took of his suit jacket and hung it over the side of a sofa before he sat down in his chair.

"And you have lunch with a Mr Min Yoongi on Thursday, 3 pm, at the Monarch," you informed him last of the appointment you just made. As you looked up from your tablet, you became acutely aware of his sharp gaze.

"I prefer Celeste," he said calmly although you could almost see him firing you on the spot. Both of the restaurants were so high-end that you couldn't help but know them as they were all over the news, however, you were also provided with a list of locations when you started the job. Both of the restaurants were on the list although Mr Park's preference must have been a recent development.

"I can rearrange it," you offered immediately, already thinking of the other man's assistant and the excuses you were going to pour out to her.

Your boss's deep brown eyes rested on you. Thoughts glistened in his irises as you waited. Your hands grew clammy and your cheeks flushed with heat.

"It's alright," he said to your surprise as the hard look in his eyes softened some. "I might start preferring the Monarch."

You didn't understand what he meant but you nodded nevertheless. As you turned around and walked out, you could feel your boss's gaze burn through you back.

Taehyung

Although your friend described the job as his boss's secretary, it seemed more like a personal assistant when they asked you to come a few days early for training. They showed you the programs and gave you an entire protocol sheet of what to say and what not to say - be it to the people over the phone or to your boss himself. You were on call most of the weekends but the salary was triple and you were hoping to save some money so it didn't bother you as much.

You looked up your boss Mr Kim Taehyung before starting today. There was only one normal photo of him that you could find and it was on the company's official web page. Everything else seemed like paparazzi photos. You were surprised of how young he was for such a position and even found an article that ranked him in the ten richest people in the country.

There was no dress code for the job although already in training you noticed everyone was extremely put together. You wore a creamy white pencil skirt and a fitted but elegant top. The outfit gave you some confidence as you were nervous for your first day.

Right at the top of the enormous building, there was your heavy desk guarding the way into Mr Kim's office. You had been in since 8 am but it was five past nine already and still it was just you. You had taken some calls and rescheduled some appointments when the elevator door opened and you saw your friend Lucas. He waited beside the elevator until your boss exited.

Mr Kim had almost walked past you when he finally noticed your presence. One of his hands rested in his pocket and there was a busy look in his eyes until his gaze fixed on you.

You stood up to introduce yourself but Lucas did it for you.

"Boss, this is Y/N," he said, drawing Mr Kim's attention to himself although his sharp gaze lingered on you a moment longer. Suddenly, you realized why everyone was so put together in the office, whether they worked on the first, tenth or thirtieth floor. No matter how hard they tried to look good, their boss would always look better, seeming as if he just walked out of a Pinterest aesthetic board.

His gaze slowly turned back to you.

"I'm Y/N L/N," you said for yourself before Lucas could go on and offered your hand. Mr Kim's body language was like that of an elegant cat - moving slowly but with so much confidence it was intimidating.

He took your hand and gave it an assured but gentle squeeze.

"Kim Taehyung," he spoke with a velvety voice that made goosebumps rise on your arms.

Lucas was about to say something.

"Thank you, Lucas," said Mr Kim instead and dismissed him. Your friend nodded and threw you a reassuring smile before he disappeared in the elevator.

"You have my schedule?" Mr Kim turned to you next. Although his voice was smooth like velvet it was also as cold as ice.

"Of course," you said quickly and grabbed your tablet before you followed him into his office. You told him the appointments for the day and informed him of the more important meetings coming up that week whilst he took a seat at his heavy desk.

"A Mr Kim Namjoon wants to see you. They suggested drinks at the Imperial, tomorrow, 9 pm?" you concluded with the most recent call.

Your boss nodded but the thoughts in his eyes were far from what you had just been discussing.

"Does your boyfriend always insist on speaking for you?" he asked, catching you off guard. Your eyebrows rose.

"W-What boyfriend?" you blurted as your gaze froze on Mr Kim and a sharp breath paused in your lungs. A blush began to creep to your cheeks.

He watched you and you him until you realized what he was implying.

"You... You mean Lucas?" your eyes widened. "We- He- He's not my boyfriend, not at all. We're friends, well, acquaintances - I barely know him," you struggled to form your scattered thoughts. Your cheeks turned fully red now and your mouth grew as dry as if you just had a spoonful of sand.

"Is that... Is that a problem?" you asked carefully as you couldn't read the expression on your boss's face. Even if he told you to pack your things, you wouldn't have been surprised.

"No." Mr Kim's eyes held you for a moment longer before you managed a nod. You took your tablet and excused yourself although you could still feel his gaze on your back as you left his office.

Jungkook

Although they had showed you how to use the programs and how to be most effective at your new job, at least in theory, you couldn't help but feel your stomach churn at the sight of the massive desk waiting for you.

"If you need anything, I'm just a phone call and seventeen floors away," said the HR lady who both interviewed as well as showed you around. "Mr Jeon is on a conference call, otherwise I'd introduce you. He knows you're here, though," she explained and you nodded gratefully.

Before long you were on your own. You signed into the programs and checked your boss's schedule. At first there were just a few phone calls to take and some meetings to confirm. Talking on the phone proved to be less intimidating once you got the hang of it. The only person you actually talked to and not texted over the phone was your mom.

When the phone sounded next, however, and the call came from inside the office, your stomach twisted into knots. Still, you picked up immediately as to not keep your boss waiting.

"They're sending in the files from Kyoto. I want them on my desk by ten," said a voice on the other side before you could even manage a hello. He hung up just as quickly, leaving you without any significant information.

You quickly checked your email if there was something Japan-related in your inbox but there were no unopened messages. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you searched frantically through the programs but you couldn't find anything remotely related to what your boss said. You checked your wristwatch, noting you only had a good fifteen minutes left to complete your task.

You called your superior from the HR office, telling her exactly what he told you. She was at your desk in no time and yet not nearly as fast as you would have hoped.

"Whenever there's something you don't know, call me immediately, okay?" she said as she leaned in front of your computer. "He gets irritated when things aren't done right."

"The Kyoto office sends things directly to Mr Jeon's email, not yours. They don't like intermediaries, especially when it comes to sensitive information."

Your superior logged into Mr Jeon's email.

"I have access to his email?" you asked perplexed.

"His work email, yes."

She warned you about not being allowed to use your boss's email to send out things, only to retrieve files. The documents began printing in the corner of the room but there were dozens of pages and it was five past ten already. Your heart was pounding as your superior rushed to solve another emergency and you waited for the printer to stop.

You fixed your white cardigan top that matched nicely with your dark skirt before you gathered the papers and quickly bound them. You grabbed the heavy pile of documents and gently knocked on the door of Mr Jeon's office.

"Come in," he said as you remembered the rules from the protocol sheet they gave you.

You turned the handle and came inside, your heart pounding against your chest. You were caught off guard when you saw how young your boss was. You had expected a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a navy blue suit as opposed to someone not much older than you in a plain black t-shirt.

"I said I wanted them by ten," he spoke with the same measure of reprimand and annoyance. He didn't bother to raise his gaze from the papers in front of him.

"I apologize, I was... I had some technical difficulties," you said and placed the documents on the left wing of his desk. Your boss looked up as if awoken from his thoughts. His eyebrows hung in a frown as his gaze followed you.

"It won't happen again," you said and waited a moment, half expecting him to fire you on the spot. He nodded instead and got up. Mr Jeon walked around his desk and came up to you. He stopped no more than two feet away from you, studying you with his dark gaze. It took everything in you not to take a step back. Your heart was hammering against your throat as you did everything in your power to maintain eye contact. There was a ring in his lip and tattoos scattered down his arm.

"Can I get you something else?" you asked, trying to sound as confident as possible although your voice nearly cracked beneath the weight of your boss's frown.

He studied you for a moment longer before he shook his head and returned to his seat. "That's all, thank you."

You nodded and released the breath you didn't know you had been holding. As you walked outside, you could feel his gaze burn through your back but you didn't dare turn around.

60 notes · View notes

jungkoode · 1 day ago

Text

OFF-LABELS | 11

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: March 24th, 2025.

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents, virgin!reader.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Quiet moments of realization, aftercare that proves something deeper, gentle revelations between sheets, understanding what being taken care of really means, and the kind of comfort that only comes from complete trust. | motional intimacy, aftercare dynamics, caretaking, trust building, domestic moments, shared vulnerability, relationship development, emotional resolution, comfort scenes, deep connection, vaginal penetration, protected sex, praise kink, ‘good girl’ mentions, sweet talk, wearing his shirt, slight restrains (wrists), size kink (big dick).

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 6,4k

→ MINI SERIES: PREVIOUS

→ A/N: And that's how it ends, folks! Started this thinking it would be a quick one-shot about a med student crush and somehow ended up writing an entire saga about trust, care, and finding someone who knows exactly what you need (even when you're too stubborn to admit it). Thanks for coming along for the ride—especially to everyone who's been here since that first couch scene. Special shoutout to my writing playlist that's now basically just "songs that remind me of these two idiots figuring out they're perfect for each other." I really debated on how to end this, because I like it as it is now, but also felt like it’s not fully resolved. But at the same time, I feel sometimes actions speak louder than words and nothing can convey intimacy deeper than what these two just shared. Also gives me an excuse to write volume 2 if I ever feel like it. For now I’m closing this series like this, and feeling quite proud overall, because I have finally managed to finish a writing project. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. See you in the next story! ♥

PLAYLIST

You don’t realize you’re still crying until Hoseok gathers you into his arms.

Your body melts against him immediately—shaking, overwhelmed, wrecked beyond belief—but his arms wrap around you tight, pressing you against him, shielding you from the world, keeping you close.

You’re barely aware of movement, barely aware of anything but the warm press of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft rasp of his breath against your temple.

One arm hooks beneath your thighs, the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly.

You cling to him instinctively.

Arms curling around his neck.

Legs locking around his waist.

A desperate, unconscious attempt to keep him closer.

Hoseok hums against your skin, smoothing one palm up your spine, fingers tracing slow, steady circles between your shoulder blades.

"Shh, baby," he murmurs, lips pressing into your hairline. "I’ve got you."

Your throat shudders.

Your body is still trembling, pleasure still fluttering through your core, nerves still firing in the aftermath of everything he’s done to you.

And yet—

His hands keep soothing.

Warm, steady palms dragging down your back, up your ribs, over your arms, everywhere, mapping every inch of you with a softness that makes you ache.

"You did so well," he whispers, tilting his head to press a lingering kiss to your shoulder. "So well for me, Chip."

Your fingers fist into his shirt.

He hums, shifting you higher, cradling you closer, keeping you pressed against his chest as he moves.

The air changes.

Cool sheets brush against your bare skin.

And then—

Softness.

Your back meets the mattress, sinking into plush comfort as Hoseok lowers you, setting you down like you’re something fragile.

Like you’ll break if he lets go too fast.

Your breath shakes.

But his hands never leave you.

They stay—palming your waist, smoothing over your thighs, grounding you, soothing you as your body trembles in the aftermath.

Then—

A kiss.

Featherlight.

Pressed gently against your damp cheek.

You whimper.

Another kiss, placed just beneath your eye, tasting the remnants of your tears.

Then another.

And another.

Hoseok follows the path of your sobs—kissing them away, lips brushing over wet lashes, soft and slow, until every single tear is gone.

"You’re so beautiful when you cry for me," he murmurs.

Your chest tightens.

His lips move lower—pressing warm against the bridge of your nose, the tip of it, letting his breath fan over your face.

Another kiss.

Your forehead this time.

Slow. Lingering.

Like reverence.

Your fingers shake where they rest on his chest.

His voice dips to a whisper. "Such a sweet thing."

His lips brush yours.

Not taking. Not demanding.

Just there.

Waiting.

Soft. Warm.

Patient.

And then—

A kiss.

Gentle. Barely there.

Just the softest press of his lips to yours.

A breath, shared between you.

Your whole body shudders.

Hoseok smiles.

His fingers trace down your cheek, down your jaw, dragging slowly down the column of your throat.

"Rest a little, baby." A kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Then I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been begging for."

Your fingers fist into his shirt.

Weak. Trembling. Needy.

Hoseok stills above you, breath warm against your lips, his body heat pressing into yours.

Your throat burns.

Not from pain.

Not from exhaustion.

From want.

From him.

"Baby—" His voice is soft, careful, but you shake your head frantically.

"No." Your fingers tighten, pulling harder, tugging him closer. "Want now."

A slow inhale.

His head tilts, lips curling in quiet amusement.

"Do you?"

Your breath shudders.

"Yes," you sob, tilting your chin up, mouth chasing his. "Want you now, Hobi—"

A pause.

Then—

"Water first."

Your stomach plummets.

A whimper claws its way up your throat. "No—"

"Yes." His voice is firm, patient. "Water first, Chip."

Your lip trembles.

His thumb strokes along your cheek, soothing, warm. "I won’t fuck you if you pass out on me, baby."

Your stomach flips.

His voice is so gentle, so calm—like he isn’t fully clothed and hard as steel against your thigh, like he hasn’t spent the last hour dragging you through the most unbearable pleasure of your life.

But his eyes—

Oh, his eyes.

They gleam dark above you, swallowing you whole, already measuring, already planning.

You swallow thickly.

"Water," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "Then I’ll give you what you need."

And fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You believe him.

You nod frantically.

Too eager.

Too obvious.

But you don’t care.

Because you want. Because your thighs are still trembling, your pulse still racing, your entire body still humming in the aftermath of—

Oh God.

That happened.

That really happened.

Your breath hiccups in your chest, a little wrecked, a little overwhelmed, but—

But you giggle.

You giggle, delirious and exhausted and gleeful, because—

You pulled this from him.

Hoseok.

Jung Hoseok.

Hoseok who wears neatly pressed scrubs and glasses and smiles politely when he enters a patient’s room. Hoseok whose hands are steady, whose voice is calm, whose expression is always gentle when he’s listening to someone’s symptoms.

Hoseok.

Who just spent the last hour tearing you apart.

You shudder.

The mattress shifts beneath you as he pulls away, and you whimper at the loss—weak, pathetic, needy—but he just presses one last, lingering kiss to your temple.

"Be good," he murmurs. "I’ll be right back."

Then he’s gone.

You blink.

Oh.

The warmth of him disappears, the sheets rustling as he rises from the bed. You barely catch a glimpse of his back—broad, steady, his white dress shirt still wrinkled from your hands on him—before he disappears down the hallway.

A glass of water.

Because he’s him. Because he still has to do things properly. Because he just spent an hour ruining you but God forbid he let you dehydrate.

A breathless little giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Your hands twitch against the sheets.

You stare at the ceiling, still hiccuping a little, still throbbing between your legs, and—

Oh, God.

Oh, fuck.

This happened.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your palms into the mattress, a quiet little thrill running up your spine.

You’re still here. Still in his bed.

Your fingertips draw tiny circles against the sheets.

A habit. A little nervous tic.

Your brain is spiraling, fast and sharp, flipping through everything at once—

(You came fifteen times. Fifteen.)

(You sobbed into his mouth, and he just laughed.)

(He made you squirt. You didn’t even know you could squirt, but of course—of course—Hoseok knew.)

A breathless little whimper slips from your throat.

And fuck, it should be embarrassing, it should be humiliating, but instead—

Instead—

Your fingers tighten in the sheets.

Because you like it.

Because it’s him.

Because he’s still Jung Hoseok, the perfectly put-together, golden-boy intern at SNUH, but he’s also—

He’s also this.

Not just gentle. Not just kind. Not just the careful, competent doctor your brother trusts, the one whose name gets murmured fondly in hospital hallways—

But this.

The man who dragged you through fifteen orgasms just because you lied to him.

The man who made you earn every single one.

The man who called you sweet while he broke you open.

Your thighs clench.

The distant sound of the faucet runs in the kitchen, steady and calm, like this is all normal, like this is just another part of his routine.

Like he didn’t just turn your body into his own personal science experiment.

You hiccup again.

Still lightheaded. Still soaked between your thighs.

But you giggle, dizzy and gleeful, tiny fingers still tracing circles into his sheets.

The bed dips beneath his weight.

Warm fingers press into your scalp, soft and soothing, stroking over your sweat-damp skin. A gentle pat, the kind meant for comfort, meant to steady you.

You shudder.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

The praise lands hot in your belly.

Your lashes are still wet, damp with the remnants of your overwhelmed sobs, but your fingers cling to the sheets as he presses the cool rim of a glass against your lips.

"Slow sips," he instructs.

You obey.

Your throat works, taking in the blessed relief of water, the cool liquid easing some of the rawness there. You swallow once, twice, lips parting around the rim, letting him tilt the glass just enough to let you drink properly.

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

"That’s it," he murmurs, voice soft, pleased.

Your fingers twitch.

When you’ve had enough, he pulls it away, placing it carefully on the nightstand, moving like he has all the time in the world, like he hasn’t left you bare and aching for him.

And then—

A rustle of fabric.

A shift of movement beside you.

Something warm and soft drapes over your shoulders, settling over your bare skin like a second layer. The scent of linen and faint cologne engulfs you, fresh but familiar, threaded through with the faintest trace of sweat.

You blink down at yourself, slow, disoriented.

It’s his shirt.

His white dress shirt, still warm from his body, sleeves too long, hem pooling at your thighs.

Your breath catches.

You hadn’t even noticed him unbuttoning it. Hadn’t registered the way his fingers had moved so easily, slipping it from his shoulders, rolling it off like it was nothing—like it wasn’t everything.

Your fingers lift, tentative, touching the fabric.

Hoseok just watches. Amused.

His head tilts, gaze dragging over you—soft now, lazy, pleased.

“Much better,” he muses.

His knuckles brush under your chin, tilting your face up. When he sees the look in your eyes—wide, hazy, still wrecked—his lips twitch.

A smirk.

And then, fingers slipping beneath the hem, brushing against your bare thighs—

“Now…” he murmurs, his palm flattening over your stomach, pressing just lightly.

“You’re covered, just like you wanted.”

The bed shifts as he moves, settling his weight beside you, one knee nudging between your thighs, parting them effortlessly.

“But since you seem to love my shirt so much…” His voice dips, smooth and teasing, hands already working the hem higher.

“I think I’ll fuck you in it.”

Your stomach flips.

You whimper, legs squeezing together, but—

Hoseok moves.

Not toward you.

Not immediately.

Instead, he shifts toward the nightstand.

Slow. Torturously slow.

Your breath catches.

He knows what he’s doing.

Of course he knows.

His movements are deliberate—each action drawn out, stretching the moment, letting you feel the weight of every second, every inch of distance between you.

Your fingers clench uselessly at the sheets.

He opens the drawer.

A pause.

His fingers rummage through—calm, methodical, as if he isn’t about to fuck you senseless, as if this isn’t the thing you’ve been begging for—

You whimper.

Hoseok smirks.

He takes his time, sifting through things that do not matter—his watch, a stray pen, his glasses case, something that isn’t a condom, because he’s cruel, because he likes this, because he likes making you squirm.

You do squirm, thighs pressing together, breath uneven, and—

Finally.

Finally, he pulls out a box.

The cardboard rustles between his fingers.

Your whole body locks.

The box is pristine, sharp edges, clearly unopened.

And yet—

The way he holds it.

The way he examines it, tilting it slightly in his grip, lips pursing slightly as if he’s considering something—

You hate him.

You whimper, shifting restlessly against the sheets, and—

Oh.

Oh, he loves this.

You can see it.

The way his mouth quirks at the corner. The way his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek. The way his fingers drum lightly against the box before—

He flicks it open.

Your breath stops.

His fingers slip inside, slow, searching, before finally, finally—

He pulls one free.

Holds it between his index and middle finger.

And smirks.

The foil packet gleams in the dim light.

Your stomach flips.

Your fingers twitch.

But then—

Hoseok fixes his hair.

A casual, nonchalant movement.

Like this isn’t anything to him.

Like he’s not about to be balls-deep inside you for the first time.

Like this is just another part of his routine.

Your whole body shakes.

He notices.

Of course he notices.

The smirk lingers as he moves back to the bed, glass left forgotten on the nightstand.

And then—

He sits.

The bed dips.

Your whole body tenses.

Hoseok tilts his head.

"Wanna put it on me?"

His voice is smooth, just barely teasing, but underneath—underneath, there’s something else.

Something dark.

Something patient.

Something waiting.

Your breath hiccups.

You nod, fast, eager, wetness still clinging to your lashes.

Hoseok’s smirk deepens.

"Then go on, Chip."

He leans back on his hands, stretching out, voice dropping to a murmur—

"Earn it."

Your fingers fumble at his zipper, eager, shaky, desperate to get to him, to feel him, to finally have him the way you’ve been begging for.

Hoseok chuckles.

The sound is warm, soft, fond—which only makes your stomach twist harder, makes your fingers tremble worse.

"Easy, baby," he murmurs, his hand covering yours, stopping you before you can tug him free. "Need to take them off properly first."

Your face burns.

You whimper, shifting impatiently against the sheets, but he just smirks, brushing a lazy kiss over your forehead before standing up.

The loss of his warmth makes you ache.

You barely have time to mourn it before—

He starts undressing.

Your breath catches.

Hoseok moves unhurriedly, stretching out his elbows before reaching for his pants.

The button pops open.

The zipper glides down.

Your mouth dries.

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving, pulse pounding, throbbing between your thighs as he shoves the slacks past his hips, letting them pool at his feet.

Then his briefs.

He hooks his thumbs under the waistband, pushing them down, and—

Fuck.

Your lips part.

Hoseok is…

Big.

You knew that.

You knew.

You remember the struggle of fitting him in your mouth, the way he barely fit past your lips, the way you had to work to take him.

But seeing him like this?

All of him?

Eight thick, aching inches, flushed and leaking, the veins pulsing up his length, the sheer size of him standing rigid against his stomach—

Your throat closes.

Hoseok notices.

Of course he notices.

The corner of his mouth quirks, amusement curling through his gaze as he reaches down—

And caresses your lower lip with his thumb.

Your breath shudders.

Your tongue peeks out instinctively, barely brushing his fingertip, and his smirk deepens.

"So eager," he murmurs, thumb pressing down just slightly, making you feel the weight of it. "Didn’t even wait for me to sit back down."

Your face burns.

Hoseok just chuckles.

The warmth of his touch disappears as he moves, settling himself back onto the bed, stretching out—legs wide, arms resting loosely at his sides, body completely bare for you now.

Then—

He raises the condom between his fingers.

A silent invitation.

Your stomach flips.

You reach for it, still breathless, still shaking slightly, but when you try to tear it open—

Clumsy.

Fumbling.

Your fingers don’t quite grip the foil properly, slipping against the edge, failing to find the right angle, struggling with something that should be so simple—

Hoseok doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t tease.

Doesn’t smirk.

Just… watches.

Quiet. Patient.

His gaze is soft, steady, waiting.

You feel it.

Feel the weight of his attention, feel the way he’s watching you, not mocking, not correcting—just looking at you.

And for some reason—

That’s worse.

Your fingers tremble harder.

You glance up, cheeks burning, lips parting before you can stop yourself—

"Stop looking at me."

Hoseok grins.

Slow. Amused.

Like he expected that.

Like he knew you’d say it.

But he doesn’t stop looking.

Just tilts his head.

"Can’t."

Your fingers pause, the condom still clutched in your grip, and you glance up at him—confused, breathless, waiting.

He’s still watching you.

Still looking.

Still letting you feel the weight of his gaze, unshaken, unbothered—completely at ease while you sit there, bare and flustered and desperate for him.

Your pulse skitters.

Then—

He smirks.

"You’re doing it again."

Your brows knit. "What—"

"Your cheeks."

Your breath catches.

He leans in, voice dropping lower, softer, teasing.

"Like a chipmunk."

Your entire body locks up.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Your chest tightens.

Because—

Because that’s—

The first time.

The first time he called you that. The first time he marked you, the first time he turned something innocent into something that belonged to him.

The first time you became Chip.

Your heart races.

Something deep inside you thrums, something unbearably warm, unbearably good, something that snaps—

You kiss him.

Your hands shoot up instinctively, grasping at his jaw, your lips pressing to his without thinking, without waiting, without hesitation.

Hoseok freezes.

Just for a second.

Just for a breath.

Just long enough for you to panic, for your stomach to twist, for you to think—oh, fuck, I shouldn’t have done that—

Then he responds.

His lips move.

He kisses you back.

Slow. Steady. Measured.

But warm.

So warm.

So good.

Your whole body melts, pressing closer, needing more, fingers still tangled in his neck as you sigh against his mouth.

Hoseok chuckles.

Soft. Fond.

"Sweet thing," he murmurs against your lips.

You whimper, pressing deeper, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you cling to him, lets you pour yourself into the kiss until your lungs burn, until you’re gasping, until you remember—

The condom.

Your breath shudders.

You pull back, fingers clumsy as you tear the foil open, still shaky, still breathless from the kiss, and—

Hoseok just watches.

Smirking. Amused.

But he doesn’t say anything.

He just lets you try.

You slide it over him carefully, hands unsteady, still wide-eyed at the sheer size of him, still feeling the way your pulse thuds at the sight.

He’s…

He’s huge.

You knew that. You remember that.

But now—

Now you’re about to—

Your breath hiccups.

You shift onto your knees, thighs spreading as you move to straddle him, hovering just above him, body trembling, still dizzy, still soaked from everything he’s done to you—

And he still lets you try.

But then—

The moment your fingers press against his chest, the moment you try to steady yourself, the moment your thighs trembleas you hover—

His hands clamp down on your waist.

"Woah, Chip—"

A sharp exhale, his fingers firm, steadying you in place, holding you still before you can sink down too fast, before you can hurt yourself.

"Steady."

Your heart races.

His grip tightens slightly, thumbs smoothing over your ribs, keeping you held, keeping you anchored as he looks up at you.

His voice is lower now. Softer.

"Baby," he murmurs, something warm curling behind his words. "You have to take your time."

His hands slide up your sides, palms warm over bare skin, smoothing over the fabric of his dress shirt where it hangs loose around you. The sleeves slip lower as he adjusts his grip, dragging the soft cotton against your ribs, against your overheated skin.

Your thighs shake.

Hoseok smirks, eyes glinting.

"You think you can take me just like that?"

Your breath shudders.

Because—

Because no.

Not really.

Not all at once.

He’s too big. You know that.

But you’re—

You want it so bad.

You’re so ready.

You need it.

You shift slightly, pressing down just a little, feeling the head of him brush against your soaked entrance, and—

Hoseok groans.

His fingers dig into your hips, grip tightening, controlling the movement before you can force it, before you can rush it, before you can hurt yourself trying to take something that isn’t meant to be taken fast.

"Slow, baby," he murmurs, voice thicker, deeper.

You whimper.

Hoseok’s grip softens slightly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin.

"Let me help."

You nod frantically, fingers gripping at the open lapels of his shirt, still draped over your frame. The movement makes the fabric shift, slipping off one shoulder, baring more of your skin beneath his touch.

You feel desperate. Breathless.

And then—

Hoseok smiles.

Slow.

Dark.

Steady.

Then he guides you down.

Your breath shatters.

The first inch stings.

Not painful—not quite—but tight, an ache so deep and slow it makes your thighs tremble.

Hoseok feels it.

Of course he does.

His grip tightens, fingers firm at your waist, holding you still, keeping you from taking too much, keeping you from sinking down too fast.

"Easy, baby," he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

Because—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

This—

This is so much.

He’s thick, stretching you in a way that makes your walls clamp down, muscles fluttering, your body trying to pull him in while also fighting to accommodate him.

You whimper.

Hoseok hums, pleased.

His hands soothe over your waist, warm palms stroking up your sides, dragging slow, steady circles over your skin.

"That’s it," he murmurs, voice gentle, but the words still send something dark curling through your stomach. "Just like that, Chip."

His thumbs stroke slow circles into your waist, fingertips grazing over the smooth cotton hanging open around you.

The fabric barely clings to your body now, slipping further apart with every movement.

Your walls pulse.

Hoseok notices.

His smirk deepens.

His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to hold you down, just enough to keep you where he wants you—halfway, stretched around the thickest part of him, not moving, just feeling.

And then—

His mouth is on you.

Your breath shudders.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses against your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your skin, and you whimper, shifting slightly—

His fingers dig in.

"Stay still."

Your whole body locks up.

Your walls clench around him at the command, and he groans, deep in his chest, head tilting back for just a second before he regains control.

Then his mouth finds you again.

Lower.

Lips brushing against the tops of your breasts, warm and wet, tongue flicking over sweat-damp skin.

"You feel so good, baby."

A kiss over your sternum.

"So tight around me."

Another over your clavicle.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, hips twitching, but he doesn’t let you move.

"Shh," he soothes, voice low, patient, mocking.

His tongue flicks over your nipple.

The loose fabric shifts with the motion, dragging over your ribs, brushing against your stomach—just another sensation layered over the unbearable stretch of him inside you.

Your whole body jerks.

"Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects, lips wrapping around the sensitive bud, sucking slow, leisurely, like he has all the time in the world—

And he does.

Because he’s keeping you still.

Because you can’t move.

Because he won’t let you move until he decides you can.

Your walls flutter, squeezing tight around the thick, unmoving length of him, and he moans, breath hot against your skin.

His hands soften at your waist, but only slightly.

Still firm.

Still controlling you.

His lips drag lower, tongue swiping over the curve of your breast, down the center of your ribs, kissing, licking, letting the wet heat of his mouth distract you from the pressure, from the way he’s still so deep inside you, still so thick, still holding you exactly where he wants you.

"Tell me how it feels," he murmurs, lips pressing just above your belly button.

His fingers trace absent shapes against your waist, brushing over where the shirt is still barely covering you, ghosting over the open hem.

He exhales, amused, eyes flicking up as he tugs at the fabric, letting it fall further apart.

Your breath stutters.

You’re so full.

So stretched.

It’s too much—but it’s not enough.

You need more.

Your thighs tremble. "Big."

Hoseok chuckles.

Low. Deep.

He likes that.

His tongue flicks against your skin, a soft hum vibrating through his chest as his hands knead over your waist.

"That’s right," he murmurs.

His thumbs tilt your hips, adjusting you slightly, just enough to make the pressure shift, make the stretch deeper, make you feel him more.

You whimper.

Hoseok groans.

Then—

"Take the rest, baby."

And his hands push you down.

Your breath shatters.

The last few inches burn, your walls stretching around him, struggling to take him, struggling to make room for the sheer size of him, and—

Oh, fuck.

Your head falls back.

Your entire body clenches, every muscle tight, your thighs trembling where they frame his waist, your breath coming fast, uneven, struggling to process just how deep he is.

Hoseok groans.

Low. Guttural.

A sound that comes from deep in his chest, vibrating against your ribs, making your walls clamp down around him in helpless, pulsing flutters.

"Fuck, Chip."

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "H-Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects again, but his voice wavers this time, mouth parting on a sharp inhale as his fingers tighten at your waist.

Because you’re squeezing him.

Because you’re so tight.

Because he can feel your walls still trying to adjust, still struggling to accommodate him, still fluttering, still soaked from everything he’s done to you—

And fuck.

Fuck, you knew he was big.

You knew.

But this—

This is too much.

Too deep, too thick, pressing against something inside you that makes your entire body tremble.

Your voice is wrecked. "I—I c-can’t—"

"Shh."

Hoseok’s fingers slide higher, smoothing up your spine, pressing into the knots of tension there, keeping you anchoredagainst him.

He leans up slightly, mouth ghosting over your shoulder, lips brushing soft against damp skin.

"Relax, baby." A warm kiss to the base of your throat. "Let me stretch you out."

Your pulse skitters.

His hands stay at your waist, holding you still, keeping you down, keeping you full.

And then—

His mouth moves.

Hot lips press against your clavicle.

Then lower.

Then—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His tongue swirls around your nipple.

Your breath hiccups.

A sharp little jolt of pleasure spikes through your stomach, the contrast overwhelming—the deep, aching stretch of him inside you paired with the gentle, teasing flicks of his tongue against your skin.

You writhe. "H-Hobi—"

His teeth scrape lightly, lips sucking, slow, measured.

"You’re doing so well," he murmurs against your skin, voice low, warm. "So tight around me."

A sharp exhale against your breast, warm and teasing.

"Like you were made to take me, baby."

Your walls pulse.

Hoseok groans, dragging his lips back up your throat, sucking lightly at your pulse.

"Just a little more."

Your stomach flutters.

His fingers press into your hips, keeping you down, keeping you still, making you feel every inch, every stretch, every impossible, aching depth of him—

And then—

You feel it.

The moment your body gives in.

Your walls accommodate him, adjust, mold around his thickness, taking him completely, letting him settle inside you—

And Hoseok feels it too.

A sharp inhale.

His fingers twitch against your waist.

Then—

A low, wrecked "fuck."

Your breath shudders.

You feel the weight of him, feel the stretch, feel the deep, unbearable fullness of being seated fully on his cock.

It’s—

It’s so much.

But also—

It’s so good.

You exhale shakily, fingers trembling where they rest on his chest.

Hoseok’s lips press into your temple, soft, grounding.

His voice dips lower, quieter.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod frantically.

Because—

Because yes.

Because you’re so full, but you don’t want to move.

Not yet.

Not when it feels like this.

Hoseok smiles.

"That’s my girl."

Then—

His fingers tighten.

"Now," he murmurs, smirk pressing into your jaw, "stay still while I ruin you."

His hands slide up your sides again, slow, deliberate, palms pushing the shirt further open, exposing more of your body to his touch. But he doesn’t pull it off. Doesn’t let you be fully bare. He keeps you like this—half-dressed, swallowed in his shirt, draped in his fabric—while he sinks deeper inside you.

Your breath catches.

Because you believe him.

Because he’s still so deep, still so thick inside you, and you can feel the way your walls flutter around him, feel the way your body is trying to adjust but still clenching down, still so tight, still not used to him yet.

And yet—

His fingers tighten at your waist.

And then—

He moves.

The first drag is slow.

Not a thrust, not a pull, not a sharp snap of his hips—just a shift, a deep, rolling movement, barely anything at all—

But you feel it everywhere.

Your walls clench at the stretch, the drag, at the way his cock pulls against every sensitive spot inside you before pressing back in again, seating himself fully inside you again, making sure you stay full, making sure you stay stretched around him.

Your whimper is shattered.

"Oh my god—"

Hoseok groans.

His hands hold you down, keeping you trapped in his lap, forcing you to take it, forcing you to sit with it, forcing you to feel every single inch of him as he rocks into you.

"Good girl," he praises, voice warm, deep, slipping into your hair as his lips press against your temple. "Taking me so well."

Your whole body trembles.

His hands move up your back, palms flat, warm, steady, keeping you anchored against his chest.

Then—

Another slow thrust.

Deeper this time.

The drag of him burns, the stretch still so tight, but it feels good, feels like something your body is learning, something it’s adjusting to, something it’s craving now.

You writhe. "Hobi—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects, lips dragging down the side of your throat, voice thick, teasing, mocking, and your walls clencharound him at the sound—

He feels it.

Of course he does.

He groans, grip flexing at your hips, fingers pressing harder, making you sink onto him, making sure you stay stuffed full of him.

"Fuck," he murmurs against your skin. "This tight little cunt." His teeth scrape against your jaw, breath hot against your ear. "Gripping me so well."

Your hips jerk.

A sharp little movement—too fast, too eager, your body trying to chase the friction, trying to take more—

Hoseok stills you immediately.

His grip tightens.

His fingers dig in.

He stops you completely.

Your breath shudders. "H-Hoseok—"

He exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Then—

"Don’t rush me, baby."

Your stomach flips.

Because—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You thought he was taking it slow for you.

Thought he was helping you adjust.

But—

But that’s not it, is it?

Hoseok is pacing himself.

For himself.

Because he’s still in control.

Because he’s still making you wait, still making you suffer, still teaching you what it means to take him properly.

Your thighs tremble.

You whimper, voice small, and—

Hoseok groans, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, fingers massaging at your hips.

Then—

He moves again.

Slow.

Measured.

Deep.

Rocking you into it.

Letting you feel it.

Letting you drown in it.

And fuck, you do.

The next roll of his hips is sharper.

It drags something new out of you—something sweet, something helpless, something hot that makes your fingers clenchinto his shoulders, makes your walls pulse around him in a way that makes him groan.

"There it is," Hoseok murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. "That's my girl."

Your stomach flips.

Because—

Oh.

Oh, you love this.

You love how good he is, how skilled he is, how precise he is with every movement. You love the way he’s picking up the pace now, the way his hips are guiding you into it, the way he’s still holding you still while he moves, making you take it.

You whimper.

Hoseok hums.

"So cute," he murmurs, voice thick, teasing, lips pressing softly to the corner of your mouth. "So eager for me."

Your walls clench down at the praise, and he groans, feels it, lets his hands tighten at your hips.

"H-Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he corrects again, but this time—

This time, he smirks when he says it.

Your cheeks burn.

Because you know what he’s doing.

And he knows you love it.

His hands shift—one slipping from your hip to cup the back of your neck, holding you close, keeping you right there, breath mingling, bodies melded together.

Then—

He thrusts up.

You gasp, eyes going wide, mouth parting, and—

Hoseok laughs.

"That’s it, baby," he exhales, delighted, shifting his grip at your waist, holding you down now, keeping you in place while he moves.

He picks up his pace, guiding you into deep, steady rolls, each one pressing him harder into that spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble.

Your head falls forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder, and you whimper, overwhelmed, breath catching with every movement.

Hoseok groans, his lips pressing to the top of your head, voice warm, fond.

"You’re so sweet like this."

Another snap of his hips, and you wail.

His fingers splay over your back, holding you there, keeping you wrapped around him.

"So pretty when you take me so well," he murmurs, voice soothing even as he fucks you deeper, even as he makes you writhe.

Your thighs are shaking, your whole body melting into his hands, and Hoseok just smiles.

"Good girl," he breathes, kissing your temple. "You love this, don’t you?"

You nod frantically, breath hiccupping out of you, and he laughs, pleased, his hips rolling harder, making you feel it, making you understand how good he is.

"You love me taking care of you, don’t you, baby?" His fingers press into your waist, shifting you just right against him. "Love being my good girl?"

Your moan is wrecked, and he groans, pressing his lips softly to your cheek, voice warm, teasing.

"Such a sweet thing."

And then—

He really starts fucking you.

Hoseok moves before you can even process it.

One moment, you’re wrapped around him, clinging to his shoulders, gasping into his mouth—

The next, your back is hitting the mattress.

Your breath shatters.

He never leaves you.

Never disconnects.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his cock still seated deep inside you as he shifts, as he sprawls you out beneath him, as he spreads you wide across his sheets.

You whimper. "H-Hoseok—"

"Dr. Jung," he murmurs, voice dark, teasing, breath hot against your throat.

His fingers slide up your arms, pushing the fabric of the sleeves further back, exposing more skin.

The movement pulls the shirt even wider open, leaving it hanging loosely around your frame, framing the wrecked state of your body beneath him.

Then—

He thrusts.

Hard.

Deep.

Your head tilts back, a wrecked moan spilling from your lips, and—

He pins you down.

His hands grab your wrists, pressing them above your head, keeping them trapped against the pillows.

Then—

His other hand slides down.

Down your waist.

Down your thigh.

And then—

He presses it down.

His palm flattens against the inside of your thigh, forcing it against the mattress, spreading you wider, opening you up even more for him.

The shirt slips further apart with the movement, fabric barely clinging to your shoulders, gaping open, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Your moan is shattered.

You can’t move.

You can’t do anything.

He has you pinned, held open, fucked into the mattress.

And then—

He starts moving.

Deep.

Fast.

Sharp.

His hips slam into you, cock driving into that spot inside you that makes your whole body lock up, makes your walls clench around him, makes your thighs tremble against his sheets.

"Oh my god—"

Hoseok groans.

"You can take it, baby," he murmurs, voice thick, his fingers tight around your wrists, his hand pressing your thigh flat against the bed.

His hips snap into you, faster, harder, and you wail, body helpless beneath him, body opening for him, body taking everything he gives you.

"That’s it," he breathes, voice soothing, lips brushing over your jaw. "Take it, baby."

Your whole body writhes.

His fingers tighten at your wrists, his hand firm at your thigh, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Then—

A soft kiss to your cheek.

"You feel so good like this," he murmurs, voice warm, like he isn’t currently fucking you into the mattress, like he isn’t making you take it so deep you’re practically seeing stars.

"So sweet for me," he breathes, lips dragging down your neck, tongue flicking against your pulse. "Such a good girl, letting me ruin you."

The weight of his body presses you into the mattress, the soft linen of his shirt bunching beneath you, trapping heat between your bodies.

The scent of him lingers in the fabric, surrounding you, filling every breath as he fucks you deeper.

Your moan is wrecked.

And Hoseok just smiles.

Then—

He snaps his hips even faster.

The pleasure builds too fast.

Too deep, too sharp, too much at once.

He’s fucking you open, pace relentless, cock slamming into that spot inside you over and over and over—

And your body can’t fight it.

Your thighs shake.

Your back arches.

Your walls clench down so tight around him that he groans, deep and wrecked, his grip bruising at your wrists, his hand pressing your thigh, keeping you trapped beneath him.

"H-Hoseok—"

"I know, baby," he pants, voice low, thick, his lips dragging over your jaw. "I know."

And then—

You break.

Your orgasm tears through you, a white-hot detonation that rips a shattered wail from your throat, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down on him, your thighs trembling.

But it doesn’t stop.

Your body keeps going.

The pleasure keeps pulsing, keeps cresting, one wave crashing into the next, your walls still fluttering, still milking his cock, still wringing him out—

And it destroys him.

Hoseok groans, voice breaking, hips jerking, pace turning erratic, messy, as he fucks you harder, deeper, chasing the unbearable tightness of you, the way your body won’t stop squeezing him.

The sweat-slick fabric sticks between you, damp at your lower back where the shirt has ridden up with the intensity of his thrusts.

But he barely notices—too focused on fucking you apart, on making sure you take everything, on keeping you wrapped in him.

"Fucking hell—"

His grip tightens on your hands while he spreads your legs wider, letting him drive in even deeper, harder, rutting into you with sharp, needy thrusts.

Your breath splinters.

Your back arches.

And then—

He curses, voice wrecked, pace losing rhythm completely, his body shuddering as he slams into you one last time—

And spills inside you.

His groan is low, broken, forehead dropping against your shoulder, muscles tensing as his cock pulses, warmth flooding deep inside the condom.

His breath hiccups against your skin.

Your walls flutter around him, aftershocks still shuddering through you, body still milking him, pleasure still lingering.

A beat.

A slow, heavy inhale.

Then—

His grip on your wrists loosens.

His hand on your thigh softens.

And then—

Hoseok laughs, breathless, voice low, wrecked.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Chip," he murmurs, exhaling shakily against your cheek. "You're gonna kill me."

Hoseok doesn’t move at first.

Just stays inside you, buried deep, forehead pressed against your shoulder, chest rising and falling steadily against yours.

His breath is warm against your skin, soft little exhales against the slope of your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close.

Then—

A deep, satisfied hum.

"You’re trembling, baby."

His voice is thick, smooth and soothing, and—

Oh.

Oh, you are.

Your whole body is shaking, weak and wrecked, nerves still firing from overstimulation, muscles useless beneath the weight of him.

Hoseok smiles against your skin.

"So precious."

Your face burns. "Shut up—"

But the words slur together—breathless, wrecked, voice barely functional—and Hoseok chuckles, amused, because—

Oh, he loves this.

Loves seeing you like this.

Loves knowing he’s the reason for it.

His lips press to your temple.

"Think you can move, sweetheart?"

You try, but the oversized fabric shifts against your skin, a reminder of how wrecked you are beneath it, how ruined you are in his clothes, how you’re still wrapped in him even now.

Your breath hiccups.

You try to shift, try to sit up, try to do anything—

And fail completely.

Your limbs don’t respond.

Your legs feel like lead.

Your thighs twitch, weak and useless, and you whimper, realizing you are—

Entirely.

Completely.

Boneless.

Hoseok grins.

"That’s what I thought."

Hoseok exhales, shifting above you, and the movement drags the loose cotton against your overheated skin, the open edges brushing against your ribs as he adjusts his grip.

His eyes flicker down, taking in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, drowning in the fabric of his own damn shirt—and something dark glints in his gaze.

His arms tighten around you—secure, steady—before he moves, rolling both of you until your back meets the mattress and he’s hovering above you, still inside, still deep, still making you feel the stretch of him.

Your breath catches.

His smirk widens.

"So cute," he murmurs, voice low, hands smoothing down your waist, fingers tracing over every twitching muscle, everywhere he’s left his mark on you.

Then—

"We’re gonna shower."

You barely process the words, too dazed, too sensitive, but then—his hands are on you again.

Slow, steady, smoothing down your thighs, adjusting the way his shirt still drapes over your body, as if debating whether to peel it off or leave you in it a little longer.

You whimper at the thought—warm water, his hands on you, his help—and the way he says it makes something deep in your stomach curl.

Because—

It’s not a suggestion.

It’s a decision.

A statement.

Like it’s already happening.

Like he’s already made up his mind.

And you—

You love it.

You love that he’s still taking care of you, still controlling the situation, still making sure you’re okay.

His smirk is slow. Amused.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs, fingers tracing over the loose fabric where it pools at your waist.

Your stomach flips.

“Hobi—”

“Dr. Jung,” he corrects easily, shifting back, peeling himself away from you—but not before tugging the shirt closed over your chest, fastening one single button near your collarbone.

Just enough to cover you.

Just enough to keep you in it.

Just enough to remind you exactly who you belong to.

You hum in response, lips parting—

But then—

A thought.

A very bad thought.

"Oh, shit—" Your voice is hoarse, throat still raw from moaning his name, but you panic, trying to move, trying to reach for your phone, trying to—

"Caleb—"

Hoseok snorts.

His fingers press into your waist, holding you down, keeping you still, making you look at him.

His smirk is lazy, amused.

"Already handled, baby."

Your stomach drops.

You blink. "What—"

He reaches for his phone, showing you the text thread with your brother from hours ago:

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙷𝚎𝚢, 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝙴𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝙽𝚄𝙷. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊’𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚈/𝙽 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛: 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍?

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙽𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙴𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚈/𝙽’𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜’ 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛: 𝙾𝚑 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚛𝚘.

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖. 𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚙.

"You..." You stare at him. "You planned this? Before—"

"No. I texted him after I gave you the 20 minute warning." His thumb traces your lip. "Before that, I called in a favor from one of the nurses that know Kiara. Managed to get out early as soon as I knew you were drunk in that club. Got there, saw you; texted you."

"But you were mad. You blocked me—"

"I was." He kisses your temple. "Still am. But I was worried. Couldn’t help keeping an eye on you. And I wasn't letting you go home with that intern."

Your heart flutters. Because this is peak Hoseok—calculating every detail, ten steps ahead, making sure you're taken care of even when he's furious with you.

"How did you know I'd—"

"Misbehave?" His laugh is soft. "Because I know you, Chip. Know exactly how to make you chase what you want."

You should be annoyed at his confidence. Instead, you're melting further into his sheets.

"Now." He finally slips out of you, making you whine at the loss. "Shower. Then sleep. You have approximately—" He checks his watch. "—fourteen hours before you need to be at Kiara’s for brunch."

You blink. "What?"

"She's covering for us." He lifts you effortlessly. "Telling Caleb you crashed there after drinking. You'll show up tomorrow, properly hungover, full of stories about girls' night."

Your head spins. "You arranged all that while driving?"

"While fingering you, actually. In the elevator." His smile is smug. "Multitasking is a valuable skill in medicine."

"I hate you."

"No you don't." He carries you to the bathroom. "You love that I think of everything."

He's right.

You absolutely do.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @hobis-sprite0218 @mcflurry-220 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

65 notes · View notes