#squid game gifs

[multifanxtvshows]

my favourite person in the whole entire world 💛

my favourite weirdo 

[bladesrunner]

That leaves Jegi and Spinning Top. Which of those works for you?

SQUID GAME (2021–2025) S02E04: Six Legs

[breadandlottery]

The way he tries to hold on to Jung-bae when he walks away 🥺

[midnight--sadness]

the slow blinking makes him look like a cat

[dread-full]

[pinkbowsxo]

Corrupted Innocence - Part 7

Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

Corrupted Innocence Masterlist

summary: going to the nightclub with the group, you hoped to spend some more time with se-mi, then you hear that thanos was with another girl as you got upset, he told you nothing happened and quickly took you back to his place as you ditched se-mi completely

warnings: swearing, mention of smoking and drugs, p in v, fingering, choking, manipulation, dom thanos

comments: mdni!!

a/n: hey everyone! i haven’t posted in so long omg i’m so sorry😩 i was so busy but here is finally chapter 7, it’s pretty late here so i hope i didn’t make any mistakes, anyway enjoy!! kisses xx

The next day, you went to the nightclub with the group, as planned. Nam-gyu currently works there, so he and Thanos would often come here, and sometimes you and Se-mi would join in too.

You all arrive at the nightclub, the music already blaring. Thanos and Nam-gyu are the first to enter and are greeted by a few familiar faces. Se-mi grabs your hand and pulls you along, her heels clicking on the pavement. "Come on, slowpoke!"

Thanos and Nam-gyu said they were going to the VIP lounge to hang out and do their thing. Se-mi rolls her eyes playfully. "Typical guys, always doing their ‘thing’." She laughs and leads you through the crowded dance floor to the bar. “Let's get some drinks and have some fun before they come back all spaced out."

Se-mi orders her rum and coke while you choose a vodka and cranberry. The bartender serves your drinks quickly, the crowd at the bar gradually thinning as the night goes on.

Se-mi narrows her eyes playfully as she leans against the bar and takes a sip of her rum and coke. "You never drink hard liquor. And when was the last time we hung out alone like this? Without those two idiots around?"

“I really need this drink,” you said, chuckling as you took a sip. “And yes, it’s been a while,” you said, looking down at your lap, looking awkward somehow.

Se-mi's smile fades a little as she notices your distant attitude. She puts down her drink and turns to you with concern. “Hey, what's going on with you? You've been a little distant lately. More distant than usual."

How could you tell her you were fucking Thanos? You didn't know how to act around her, while you were hiding it from her, and on top of that you were so stressed out. "It's nothing," you said, looking at her to make it seem believable.

Se-mi’s eyes scan your face, searching for any hint that you’re telling the truth. She can tell something’s off, but she can’t put her finger on it. She picks up her drink again and swirls the ice around it. “Nothing? Really?”

You nodded. “Nothing, really,” you said with a smile on your face as you took another sip.

Se-mi's eyes narrow as she studies you, trying to read your expression. She doesn't buy it, but she doesn't press the issue any further. She takes another sip of her drink. “If you say so. But you know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

“I know and I will, thank you,” you said, appreciating her words. Se-mi nods, her expression softening slightly. She looks toward the VIP lounge. “I wonder what those two are doing. Probably getting high of their asses." She chuckles and shakes her head before turning back to you.

Suddenly, Nam-gyu stumbles out of the VIP lounge, looking disheveled and slightly off balance. He walks straight up to you and Se-mi, waving theatrically. “Yo! There you two are!” He swallows softly, clearly off the hook.

Se-mi rolls her eyes, but can't help but laugh at Nam-gyu's plight. She leans against the bar and crosses her arms. "Looks like someone had a good time in there." She calls out to him, grinning. “Where's Thanos?"

Nam-gyu bursts out laughing. “Thanos? Oh man, he must be upstairs getting lucky with that hot chick from the VIP room." He winks exaggeratedly, clearly enjoying the gossip.

You felt a pang in your chest. You weren’t in a relationship or anything, he could do whatever he wanted, but it hurt you that he was with someone else. You felt your face burn and jealousy gnaw at your chest.

Se-mi notices your sudden silence and the slight blush on your cheeks. She looks at you curiously, but before she can say anything, Nam-gyu continues his drunken ramblings. "Yeah, man, he’s really hitting it off with her."

You told them you were going to the restroom. Se-mi watches you go, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She glances between your retreating form and Nam-gyu, who is still chatting.

On your way to the restroom you saw Thanos, he called your name. You looked at him once and just kept walking.

Thanos sees you walk by without stopping and immediately knows something’s off. “Yo, wait up.” He calls out, catching up to you as you reach the restroom door. “What’s your problem?”

He blocked the way to the restroom. “I don’t have a problem,” you said, without even looking at him.

He frowns and studies your face intently. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” His voice is determined and commanding. He lifts your chin with his finger, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You met his gaze. “It’s nothing, Su-bong. I hope you had a nice time in the VIP lounge.”

Thanos' eyes widen slightly at your sarcasm, realizing the possible cause of your attitude. He slides his hand from your chin, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the tension. "Are you jealous or something?" He tilts his head, his expression mixing amusement and curiosity.

“I’m not jealous.” He laughs, his grin widening. “You’re so bad at lying.” Thanos chuckles softly, his breath caressing your ear as he leans in closer. “Hey, relax. I was just teasing you, alright? Nothing happened with that girl.” He gently tilts your chin up with his finger, forcing you to meet his playful gaze again.

“Nam-gyu made it sound like-“ Thanos rolls his eyes dramatically and waves his hand dismissively as he cuts you off. "Nam-gyu talks shit.”

You believed him, he made you believe him. Thanos sees your expression soften and your jealousy disappear. He smiles inwardly, knowing he’s successfully manipulated you. “Baby, you know I’d never touch another girl right?” he adds sweetly, placing a hand on your cheek. Your expression relaxes even more, and you fall for it completely.

Thanos returns your smile with a charming smirk, pleased that his manipulation has worked so smoothly. He reaches out and playfully tugs on a strand of hair as he leans toward you conspiratorially. “Next time Nam-gyu starts gossiping, come straight to the source, yeah?”

You nod at him, smiling. Thanos’ smile turns into a satisfied smirk as he watches you nod and smile obediently. He knows he has you exactly where he wants you: trusting and believing every word. “Good girl.”

“So, do you have any plans after we wrap up here?” he asks casually, his tone light and nonchalant. He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets, and acts like it’s no big deal. “I thought you could come back to my place with me for a bit.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” You said looking at him. Thanos smiles, satisfied with your answer. He pushes himself off the wall, his hand gripping your arm. “Good. Let’s tell the others we’re leaving then.”

You looked at him in surprise. “Right now? I thought you said-” Thanos cuts you off with a nonchalant shrug, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. “I changed my mind. Why wait, right? Let’s bounce.”

"Uh, yeah, okay. I'll just text Se-mi and say I wasn't feeling well and went home or something." Thanos watches as you quickly type out a message, his expression unreadable. He pulls you closer to him as he pushes through the crowd, ready to leave. "Perfect," he mumbles, pulling his car keys from his pocket. "Let's go."

You haven't spent much time in the club or with Se-mi, but you have enjoyed some alone time with Thanos, so that's okay. "Are you sure it's a good idea to drive now?" Thanos laughs, "Baby, I've only had two drinks. I'm as sober as a judge." He winks.

“I thought you and Nam-gyu smoked or maybe took pills.” He laughs again, "Smart girl. Yeah, we did smoke, but no pills. I'm serious though. I'm completely sober." He studies your face and finds your concern quite cute. "You're like a mom."

You chuckled when he said that. You didn't know whether to take it as a compliment. You opened the passenger door as Se-mi texted you back.

Se-mi

"Babe, You good? You're acting weird. And now you're leaving without saying bye?"

You got into his car as he drove back to his house. The car ride was silent as you felt guilty. Once there, you walked upstairs with him as he opened the front door to his apartment. He took off his shoes and walked into the kitchen.

He pops the cap off the beer bottle and takes a long drink as he leans against the counter. He watches you follow him inside and sees your guilty look. "You're sulking," he says, taking another sip of his beer.

“Do you want one?” He holds up his beer bottle and looks at your face for an answer. “You’re quiet,” he adds softly. He’s starting to realize that maybe you’re brooding again, like you always do. “Yeah, uh, no, thank you, I don't like beer.”

“Right, right. You’re more of a wine girl.” He chuckles, remembering your preferences. He takes another sip of beer, his eyes never leaving you as you stand there awkwardly in his living room. “So… you gonna just stand there all night?”

He placed his beer bottle on the counter, he walked over to you as he placed his hand on your cheek, making you look up at him. “Angel,” he says, his thumb caressing your cheek. His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you a little closer. “You’re thinking too much.” He catches your gaze, a small grin playing on his lips. “Why are you so tense?” His voice is tender but also teasing.

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone. “You know I can help you relax.” His thumb strokes your jawline gently.

He grabbed your arm as he led you upstairs, his hand steady on your arm. He pulled you into his room and closed the door behind him. He turned to you, his eyes filled with a different look than before. “Sit,” he instructed, pointing to his bed.

He slowly pushes you back onto the bed, his hands moving to your legs as he spreads them and kneels between them. A mischievous smirk plays on his lips as he begins to pull up your dress. “Let’s get you out of this dress,”

“Arms up,” he commands, his hands gripping the hem of your dress. He pulls it off in one swift motion and tosses it aside. You’re now lying on his bed, in nothing but your pink lace bra and panties. “You changed your piercing,” he says, his eyes focused on your belly

"It's cute," he says with a grin, running his fingers over the new piercing. "I like it better than the old one," he leans over and presses a kiss just above the piercing.

You were glad he liked it when you smiled. He leaned in again and kissed you hungrily. He unbuckled his belt with one hand, not breaking the intense kiss. His other hand moved to your face, deepening the kiss as he pressed his body against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and his breathing was ragged as he pulled back a little to unbutton his pants.

He makes quick work of your bra and tosses it aside. His hands then hook into your waistband and slowly pull your panties down. He steps out of his pants and boxers and stands naked before you. He kicks his clothes aside and crawls back onto the bed, pulling you against him.

He kisses you roughly, his fingers immediately finding your wetness. He moans into your mouth, his fingers spreading your pussy lips to find your clitoris. He starts to circle it, feeling how wet and swollen you are. "Fuck," he mumbles against your lips, "you’re so fucking wet."

He breaks the kiss and slides his mouth down your neck, his fingers continuing their rhythmic circles. He feels your hips buck against his hand. He looks down at his fingers glistening with your wetness. He curls his fingers inside you, searching for that spot that drives you crazy.

He grins into your neck, feeling your urge. He quickly reaches for a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. He tears the package open with his teeth and rolls the condom around his hard length. He pulls his fingers out of you, making you whine from the sudden emptiness.

He positions himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “I’m not going to waste time teasing you,” he says in a low, husky voice. “I’m going to fuck you hard and fast, just like you need it.”

He rams into you without warning, filling you completely with one brutal thrust. You feel every inch of him as he pounds into you, his hips bucking forward again and again. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls your legs up to his chest, taking you deeper. “Fuck!”

“Damn, you’re so loud,” he says with a smirk, watching your mouth open in a silent scream as he hits that deep spot inside you. “You always make such noisy sounds,” he tightens his grip on your hips, ��Like you can’t get enough.” He quickens his pace.

“So good.” You moan loudly and needily. “Mhm,” he groans, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels you tense around him. “You feel so fucking good,” he praises, his voice strained. He leans down to capture your mouth in a rough kiss, swallowing your moans as he thrusts further into you.

He breaks the kiss and changes his angle to rub your clit firmly with his thumb. “Want to cum on my cock?” He pants, working your clit in tight circles. His hips suck relentlessly, filling you up again and again. “Cum for me, let me feel you squeeze me.”

“I'm gonna cum.” You moan, barely able to get the words out of your mouth. “Fuck, yeah you are,” he hisses, feeling your body tense. He rubs his thumb against your clit. “Cum all over my cock,” he demands, his voice breaking with his own impending release.

As soon as he feels you convulse around him, he throws his head back and finds his own release, filling the condom with his hot seed. He stays there for a moment, panting and wrapped around your quivering body.

He pulls out of you slowly, making you groan in loss. He immediately wraps his hand around your throat and pulls you into a deep, messy kiss. His other hand comes up to tangle in your hair, holding you in place as he dominates your mouth. “You’re a good girl.”

He pulls away, his lips glistening with your saliva. Without a word, he stands up and walks to the bathroom, where he throws away the used condom. He returns a moment later and climbs back into bed.

You were both very tired from the club and the fucking, it was also very late. You couldn't keep your eyes open long enough before you fell asleep, very satisfied.

[meadowfics]

new director

namgyu x f!onlyfans!reader

this is a part two to my namgyu fic linked here

warnings: minors do not interact. 18+, smut. sex work involved and included in this fic. vulgar dialogue. switch!namgyu. switch!reader. vocal namgyu. p in v unprotected. breeding kink.

a year has flown by since you and namgyu became partners, both as a couple who happened to grow as each other's best friend as well. everything has clicked into place.

you’re still fantasygalaxy on onlyfans, your online empire thriving with subscribers who can’t get enough of your photos, videos, and sultry voice calls.

the money’s steady and flowing (big bank ayyy), the work’s fun, and you’ve got it locked down. there is never in-person stuff, just digital seduction from the safety of your penthouse.

namgyu was the one exception, the only guy who’s ever crossed that line from screen to reality. he’s cool with your hustle, never bats an eye when you spend nights filming, transforming into whatever role your fans are craving.

thats one great thing about your boyfriend, he respects you outside of this work. he loves you as y/n, even though he appreciates fantasygalaxy too.

sometimes he is there just off camera, watching you while he’s still pentagon.gyu. he loves throwing cash at your content like it’s a game.

he does it half to support you, half to mess with you, like he’s staking his claim as your number-one fan.

“I gotta keep the algorithm happy,” he’ll joke, but you know he loves it. early on, you both set a hard rule: he stays out of your videos. no appearances, no hints of a boyfriend.

your subscribers, especially the men and gay women, would lose it if they knew you were taken, and neither of you wants to tank your income over some drama.

you’ve built something solid with namgyu.

it’s not just sex, though there’s plenty of that, it’s coffee runs, late-night takeout, him teaching you how to play some dumb video game while you laugh at his nerdy excitement.

he’s your boyfriend, your bestfriend, and it’s weirdly normal despite how you met.

still, you keep your worlds separate: fantasygalaxy is for the fans, but namgyu’s for you.

one night, you’re prepping to film, hyped for a new role-play you’ve been teasing on your page. you’re going full naughty housecleaner—think skimpy black dress, frilly apron, thigh-high stockings, maybe a feather duster for extra flair.

you’re arranging your setup in the living room, candles flickering for ambiance, when disaster strikes.

your tripod, that trusty piece of junk you’ve been meaning to replace, snaps in half mid-adjustment.

“are you fucking kidding me?” you shout, hurling the broken legs across the room. they clatter against the wall, and you’re fuming, pacing like a caged animal.

“this is just my luck tonight.”

namgyu’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone, one eyebrow raised at your outburst.

“ you good? what’d the tripod do to deserve that?” he’s teasing, but when he sees the genuine frustration in your eyes, he sits up, tossing his phone aside.

“okay, for real, what’s the problem? you look like you’re about to set it on fire.”

you groan, slumping against the table.

“it’s fucked. i was supposed to film tonight and I promised a big post, got everyone hyped, and now my setup’s ruined.” you kick at the broken pieces for emphasis.

“i can’t just hold the phone myself. it’ll look like amateur hour.”

he stands, stretching, and walks over, nudging the wreckage with his foot.

“so what’s the move? you canceling?” you shake your head, chewing your lip.

“no way. i’ll lose momentum if i skip. i just… ugh, i don’t know.” then it hits you, and you look at him, eyes narrowing with an idea.

“actually… you could help.”

he freezes, hands halfway into his pockets.

“help? like, what, hold your props or something? i’m not getting in your videos, y/n. we agreed since I don't need weirdos to come into club pentagon and jump my ass.” you laugh, waving him off.

“not like that, relax. i mean film. hold the phone, get the angles, be my director. you stay behind the camera, no one sees you, no one knows. you could be a friend for all they know.” he blinks, processing, then a slow grin spreads across his face.

“director, huh? you trying to put me to work now?” you step closer, poking his chest, voice dropping playfully.

“come on, it’ll be fun. you get to boss me around for once, and i’ll… make it worth your while later.”

he’s sold, eyes glinting, “deal. but i’m not going easy on you. i want oscar or daejong worthy shit.”

you snort, already heading to change, “yeah, yeah. just don’t drop my phone.”

you slip into your outfit with a tight black dress that barely covers your ass, lacy apron tied loose, stockings gripping your thighs just right.

the tattoos on your arm, those starry swirls namgyu’s obsessed with, peek out as you adjust the straps. you catch him staring as you step back into the room, and he clears his throat, picking up your phone like it’s a lifeline.

“fuck, you look…” he trails off, shaking his head.

“nevermind, let’s just do this before i lose it.”

you tweak the role-play on the fly. instead of a solo housecleaner bit, you pitch a new angle: you’re a maid who’s slacking off, and the

“director”—namgyu, behind the camera—catches you, ordering you to make up for it with a show. it’s perfect. he’s involved without showing his face, just his voice barking commands to sell the fantasy, and you can play off it without breaking your no-boyfriend rule.

“so,” you say, twirling the duster, “i’m lazy, you’re pissed, and i gotta make it right. sound good?”

he nods, already in director mode, “yeah, but you better sell it. i’m not holding this thing for nothing.”

you start filming, and it’s electric from the jump. you saunter over to a table, bending low to “dust,” your dress riding up to flash your panties—black lace, a fan favorite.

you glance at namgyu, and holy shit, he’s struggling. the poor man's joggers are doing a bad job hiding his boner, the outline of his dick clear as day, but you bite your lip and stay focused.

“is this good, sir?” you purr, dragging the duster slow across the table, arching your back for the shot. his voice comes rough from behind the phone.

“not good enough. you’re slacking... make it worth my time.”

it’s hot, the way he’s leaning into it, and you’re feeding off his energy.

you strip halfway, peeling the dress off to reveal a matching bra and panties, tossing the apron aside like it’s an afterthought. you climb onto the table, crawling slow, letting your hips sway as you look at the camera...not at namgyu, but it’s hard not to when you know he’s right there.

“better?” you ask, spreading your thighs just enough to tease.

“keep going,” he says, and you catch the strain in his tone.

“you’re not done till i say so.” you roll onto your back, trailing your hands down your stomach, stopping short of anything too explicit.

it’s a tease, not a finale, and you want to keep the fans begging. you slide off the table, straddling a chair, running your fingers along your thighs, smirking as you hear namgyu shift, probably adjusting himself.

“cut,” he finally says, voice like gravel, and you’re on him in seconds. you snatch the phone, toss it onto the floor somewhere, and crash your lips into his, climbing into his lap.

he groans, hands flying to your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“what the hell, y/n.. stop teasing me?” he pants, already grinding up into you. you can feel him through the joggers, hard and throbbing, and it’s driving you wild.

“tease?” you murmur, biting his lip.

“i’m about to give you everything, baby.”

you slide off him, tugging his joggers down, and his cock springs free... thick, leaking, begging for you. you don’t hesitate, you climb over his lap and sink down onto him right there on the floor, his length stretching you in that perfect, aching way.

“oh, fuck, yes,” you gasp, rolling your hips as he grabs your ass, thrusting up hard.

“fuck you’re such a desperate little slut,” he growls, voice dripping with venom, “couldn’t even wait to post that video, huh? needed my dick right fucking now.”

you laugh, clenching around him, making him hiss.

“talk all you want, namgyu, but you’re mine. i can ride this cock whenever i damn well please and you know that.. you let me every time.”

he’s losing it, hands roaming your back, your thighs, like he can’t get enough.

“shit, you’re so fucking soaked,” he moans, slamming up into you.

“I love watching you work for those losers online, but this? this is all mine.” you lean forward, nails digging into his shoulders, voice sharp.

"ahhh-- fuck! its all yours.”

it’s vulgar, messy, skin slapping as you fuck him hard, chasing that high.

“you love it, don’t you?” you taunt, slowing your hips just to mess with him, “knowing you went fro being one of them to being the only one who gets to fill me up.”

he’s close, you can tell since his thrusts are sloppy, desperate, and he’s cursing under his breath. you’re right there with him, but you try to hold off, squeezing around him to drag it out.

“don’t you fucking dare,” he snarls, catching your game, “don’t hold what i’m trying to get out of you.”

he thrusts harder, deeper, and it’s game over...you’re cumming, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as your body locks up, pleasure crashing through you.

he’s right behind, groaning your name as he finishes inside you, hot and thick, spilling inside of your walls until you’re trembling.

you collapse against him, both of you gasping, sweaty, wrecked. Namgyu's arms wrap around you, loose but warm, and he kisses your shoulder, muttering, “holy shit!”

you laugh, still catching your breath, head resting against his chest, “you’re not bad for a first-time director.” he smirks, already cocky again.

“give me a week, i’ll have you nominated for best actress.” you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, content to stay there for a minute, his cum still warm inside you, feeling like the world’s just you and him inside of a studio... when in reality it is just your sky-rise penthouse.

masterlist

[niterose]

Obsessed with his entire look in this ad, and @vlkodlac made it worse by saying that he looks like a flight attendant!!

I’m so totally normal about that idea…. flight attendant Gi-hun save meeeeeeeeeee ✈️

(He can tell me to fasten my seatbelt any day)

(@vlkodlac also said that he would be in-ho’s personal flight attendant 🥴)

(I have more thoughts but they’re mostly indecent)

[yellowwwcrayon]

ok hear me out, problematic age gap situation with this 20 year old hoodlum Gihun and deputy police chief Inho who's in his 40s

(and Gihun's younger than Junho 💀)

Imagine him drunk on the side of the road, recently fired from his job, watching the police do a raid on an illegal human trafficking ring. Inho's only there because it's Junho's first time leading his own SWAT team, and Gihun drunkenly wolf whistles at Junho in his uniform (he actually can't see shit because it's so dark). Inho mistakes him for an amateur prostitute and goes over to lecture the kid. Gihun not only talks back and calls him an ajusshi to his face, he also makes fun of Inho's height.

And then he gets the shit kicked out of him and cuffed in the back of Inho's SUV. Junho comes out of the raid and sees Gihun in the back of the vehicle thinking he's gonna show up at the police station later, but Inho decides to take him elsewhere and teach him a lesson.

Some 𓀓𓂸 later, he decides he would like to apply to become full-time sugar baby to this short expressionless ajusshi so he doesn't have to keep slaving away in the factory like a normal person.

And this is him and his best friend Jungbae before he got chubby and cuddly like a teddy bear (sorry jws and sorry Jungbae):

[blissfulbluee]

In-ho had a bit too much fun playing the mean girl, lmao.

All he did was be silly and bully his crush. Can we blame a guy for wanting to get his regina george on? 😒

[filthygalli]

The Unseen Observer

One shot: F!Reader x Professor! Hwang In-Ho

Main Masterlist

Squid Game Masterlist

Warnings: Age gap, Forbidden relationship, student librarian x teacher relationship, light smut, teasing, sexual innuendo, office sex, manipulation, innocence, not proof read

Word Count: 2741

Author’s Note: Originally a fiction story for my Contemporary professor because he reminds me of byung hun’s character from the picture above.

Y/n stepped into the hushed sanctum of the college library, a realm that had always whispered promises of knowledge and escape. The grand wooden shelves stretched out like welcoming arms, beckoning her deeper into their labyrinthine embrace. She was no stranger to books, but this particular sanctuary felt different, alive with secrets waiting to be uncovered. Today marked her first day as the new librarian, and she couldn't suppress the thrill of excitement that coursed through her veins.

The morning passed in a blur of introductions and orientations, her fingers tracing the spine of books that held galaxies of wonder. She was shown the ropes by Martha, the elderly librarian whose eyes sparkled with wisdom and stories untold. Y/n listened intently, soaking in every detail, her symphony of nerves and anticipation beginning to crescendo.

As the day wore on, Y/n found herself in the spacious reference section, the allure of old treasures too strong to resist. She was lost in the murmurs of decaying paper and faded print when she heard it - a laugh, deep and resonant, echoing from the adjacent lecture hall. Intrigued, she stepped out into the corridor, her gaze drawn towards the source.

Through the window, she saw him. In-Ho, she'd been told, was his name, the new history professor with an engaging smile that could ignite a thousand ships. He was pacing, hands gesturing wildly, his voice weaving words into magic as he spoke about the Reformation. His eyes, intense and vibrant, held the students captive, drawing them into his narrative. Y/n found herself captivated too, her heart pounding in rhythm with his crescendoing oration. When he caught her staring, she quickly ducked back into the safety of the library, cheeks aflame.

The rest of the day was a flutter of heated glances and chance encounters. Y/n found herself reaching for her necklace, a small silver locket that housed a picture of her late mother, a ritual she employed when nerves ran high. Each time she crossed paths with In-Ho, she felt a spark, a silent conversation passing between them, igniting an invisible flame that danced on her skin.

As the sun began its descent, casting warm hues through the stained-glass windows, Y/n found herself alone in the library once more. She was rearranging a stack of books when she noticed something peculiar - a section of the history aisle seemed out of place, the books not quite aligned. Curiosity piqued, she stepped closer, running her fingers along the spines. Her touch paused at 'The History of the French Revolution,' a thick tome that felt oddly hot to touch.

As she pulled out the book, a small, folded note fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, she noticed it was addressed to 'In-Ho.' With a growing sense of trepidation, she opened it, her eyes scanning the intimate words written within. It was a love letter, passionate and raw, detailing stolen moments and whispered promises. Intrigued, she turned it over, her eyes widening at the signature - 'Ellise.' A quick internet search revealed Ellise to be one of In-Ho's students, a pretty girl with doe eyes and a flirtatious smile.

Y/n felt a pang of something - jealousy, perhaps, or maybe it was just the realization that In-Ho, this man who'd set her heart aflutter, wasn't as unattached as she'd hoped. She placed the book and the note back, stepping away as if burned. Just then, she heard footsteps, and In-Ho appeared around the corner, looking every bit as surprised as she felt.

"Y/n," he started, his voice a low rumble, "You're still here."

"Could say the same for you, Professor," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.

He smiled, a slow, guarded smile, and she felt that spark again, lingering, fiery. "In-Ho," he corrected, stepping closer, "Please, call me In-Ho."

She nodded, her gaze flicking to the bookshelf, to the letter hidden within. "I was just... arranging the books," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze followed hers, lingering on the shelf before returning to her. "You're thorough," he commented, his voice laced with an unspoken challenge.

Y/n felt a blush creeping up her neck, her mind buzzing with questions. She wanted to ask about Ellise, about the heated words in the letter, but she couldn't find the courage. Instead, she simply nodded, stepping away from the shelves, from the temptation they presented.

As she passed him, their arms brushed, and she felt a jolt, a zing of electricity that left her breathless. She could see the same reflection in his eyes, a sizzling heat that spoke of unspoken desires and late-night whispers. With a final glance, she walked away, leaving him and the library's secrets behind, her heart pounding a rhythm of anticipation and dread. Little did she know, this was just the beginning, the first page of a story that was yet to unfold.

Y/n tossed and turned in her bed, the echoes of In-Ho's voice and the hint of illicit words from Ellise's letter refusing to leave her mind. The dance of his fingers against the spines of books, the way his gaze had held hers, it all felt like a secret language, a seductive whisper from behind the dusty tomes. She woke with the sun, her body thrumming with an anticipation she couldn't suppress.

The library was her sanctuary, but today it felt more like a battleground, each aisle a potential encounter, each book a silent witness to her racing heart. She lost herself in the comforting rhythm of organizing returned books, her fingers tracing their worn covers, until a familiar, resonant voice broke her concentration.

"Y/n," In-Ho's voice echoed through the shelves, smooth and inviting, like velvet draped over a blade. She turned to find him leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Planning to stay hidden amongst the books all day?"

She flushed, the implication clear. "I'm working, In-Ho," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "Unlike some people who seem to have too much time on their hands."

He pushed off from the shelf, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming. "Oh, Y/n, always so serious. Allez, let's have some fun. Tell me," he paused, his gaze flicking to the book in her hand, "what's your favorite book? The one you'd bring to a deserted island."

Taken aback, she chuckled, the unexpected question disarming her. "White nights," she admitted, noting the surprise in his eyes. "You?"

"'Les Liaisons Dangereuses.' It's... educative," he said, his tone laced with suggestion, his eyes holding hers captive.

Y/n swallowed hard, the title sending a shiver down her spine. The books were a code, a language of their own, and his choice was as bold as a kiss. She could feel the heat radiating off him, see the pulse at his neck quicken. He was playing a game, and she wasn't sure she wanted to play, yet she found herself drawn in, a moth to a flame.

"You know," he continued, his voice a low murmur, "They say libraries are the most erotic places. All these hidden worlds, waiting to be discovered." His gaze drifted to her lips, then back to her eyes, the silent promise clear.

Y/n felt her breath hitch, her heart pounding. The library, their little game of words and inferences, it was intoxicating. She wanted to challenge him, to match his boldness, yet she found herself at a loss for words, her mind blank except for the relentless hammering of her pulse.

In-Ho took her silence as an invitation, stepping even closer, his hand brushing hers as he reached for a book. The touch was electric, a spark that shot straight to her core. She could see the reflection of her desire in his eyes, the pupil dilating, the iris aflame.

"They say knowledge is power," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "But I say, understanding the rules is power. And you, Y/n," he paused, his gaze holding hers, "you're either a master at playing this game or a novice eager to learn."

Before she could respond, he stepped back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Think about it," he said, then turned and walked away, leaving her breathless and wanting.

Y/n stood rooted, her body humming, her mind racing. In-Ho was dangerous, his flirtations bordering on manipulative. But there was no denying the attraction, the thrill of their silent dance. She was stepping into uncharted waters, but somehow, she knew she was willing to dive in, to explore the depths of their shared passion, one word, one touch, one stolen moment at a time.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of restless anticipation. Y/n found herself constantly stealing glances at the lectures hall, catching glimpses of In-Ho in his element, his voice weaving tales that captivated not just his students, but her as well. Each time their eyes met, she felt a jolt, a silent conversation passing between them, a dance of tension and longing.

As the sun began to set, casting the library in a warm, golden hue, Y/n found herself in the rare books section, her fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes. She was lost in thought, her mind a whirlwind of In-Ho's words and the echoes of their illicit encounters, when she heard footsteps. Turning around, she found In-Ho standing there, his eyes reflecting the warmth of the setting sun.

"Still hidden amongst the books, I see," he said, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Or maybe you're not hiding at all. Maybe you're just waiting."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her heart pounding. "Waiting for what?"

In-Ho stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "For the right book to find you. Like this one," he murmured, reaching past her to pull out a thick, leather-bound volume.

The sudden proximity made her breath hitch, her body tingling at his closeness. She watched as he opened the book, revealing beautifully illuminated pages. It was a collection of love poems, words that whispered of forbidden desires and stolen moments.

"These are..." she started, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind racing.

"Erotic," In-Ho finished for her, his gaze holding hers. "A perfect reflection of us."

She could feel the heat radiating off him, see the pulse at his neck quicken. The words on the page seemed to dance before her eyes, mirroring the tension between them. Unable to resist, she leaned in, her gaze lingering on his lips.

In-Ho closed the distance, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline. His lips met hers in a soft, hesitant kiss, a question more than a statement. Y/n leaned into it, her eyelids fluttering closed, her body humming with desire. His other hand found her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

The world around them faded away, the ancient words around them a symphony of their shared passion. His lips were firm, commanding, yet his touch was gentle, exploring. She matched his urgency with her own, her hands tangling in his hair, his shirt bunching in her fists. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other.

"You taste like answers," he whispered, his voice ragged. "And questions. So many questions."

She smiled, her heart pounding. "Maybe we should find a place to... discuss them," she suggested, her voice laced with innuendo.

In-Ho chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. "My office," he said, stepping back, his gaze holding hers. "Ten minutes. Don't be late."

As she made her way to his office, Y/n couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. They were playing with fire, their passion fueled by the forbidden, their desire to their shared love of literature. Yet, she found herself eager to burn, to explore the depths of their shared passion, one word, one kiss, one stolen moment at a time.

When she stepped into his office, he was waiting, his eyes reflecting the dim light, his lips curled in a smirk. He closed the door behind her, the click echoing like a promise.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, his hand reaching for hers, "where were we?"

Y/n sat across from In-Ho in his cozy office, his desk lamp casting a soft glow on the books stacked haphazardly around them. They were both breathless, their earlier encounter in the rare books section still lingering in the air like a tangible promise. In-Ho reached for a glass of wine, his hand slightly trembling, and topped off their glasses. As he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed, and she felt that now familiar spark.

"You know, Y/n," he began, his voice soft, "you're not what I expected."

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of wine. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Good. Definitely good. You're... refreshing. A breath of fresh air in this stuffy old institution."

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her at his words. "Well, I could say the same about you. A history professor with a penchant for romance novels and illicit liaisons in the library. You're full of surprises, In-Ho."

He smirked, taking a sip of his wine. "You have no idea, Y/n. No idea at all." He paused, setting his glass down, his gaze turning serious. "There's something I want to show you. Something I've never shown anyone here."

Intrigued, Y/n watched as he stood up, walking over to a bookshelf filled with an eclectic mix of books. He pulled out a thick manuscript, bound in plain paper, and placed it on the desk in front of her. It was titled 'Memoirs of a Lost Love.'

"What's this?" she asked, her fingers tracing the letters.

In-Ho sat back down, his gaze never leaving hers. "That, Y/n, is my past. A part of me I've kept hidden from everyone here. It's a...Lessons learned, so to speak."

She opened the manuscript, her eyes scanning the first few lines. It was raw, intimate, a tale of love and loss, told in In-Ho's signature resonant voice. She looked up, her eyes wide. "This is...this is beautiful, In-Ho. You're a writer."

He smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I was. I am. History has been my mask, literature my soul."

Y/n felt a profound connection in that moment, their shared love for words binding them together. She leaned over, her lips meeting him in a soft, tender kiss. When they pulled away, their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling.

"I want to know you, Y/n," he whispered. "All of you."

She smiled, her heart pounding. "And I want to know you, In-Ho. The writer, the professor, the man."

Their conversation flowed like a river, their words intertwining, their laughter echoing in the small office. They talked about books, about their dreams, about their fears. They talked about the first time they fell in love, the first time they got hurt. They talked until the sun began to rise, their shadows intertwined on the wall, their bodies barely inches apart.

And then, they didn't talk at all. Their lips found each other again, their hands exploring, their bodies pressing closer. Their clothes fell away, discarded pieces of a puzzle they were fitting together. In-Ho's touch was gentle yet commanding, his fingers tracing the curves of her body like he was memorizing a map. Y/n matched his intensity, her hands exploring the hard lines of his muscles, her lips leaving trails of fire on his skin.

When they finally came together, it was with a shared groan, a testament to their restraint, a celebration of their release. Their bodies moved in sync, their rhythm a dance they'd choreographed without words. They paused, their gazes locking, their breaths hitching in unison. Then, with a silent agreement, they continued, their bodies building towards a crescendo, their hearts pounding a shared melody.

In the aftermath, they lay entwined, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts still pounding. Y/n rested her head on In-Ho's chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling it slowly return to its usual rhythm. She felt at peace, content, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time.

[cupidsonly]

literally AMAZING i’m in desperate need for a part 3

LOST IN TRANSLATION, PT 2

summary: you were meant to see palaces and eat street food in korea, but instead you got addicted to a local man who fucks you like a sin and holds you like a secret.

parings: thanos x foreigner reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol, weed, smut, choking, creampie, fingering, slight language barrier, romanised korean

part one

You're on a tour bus.

A fucking tour bus.

It's hot, crowded, and the guide is cheerfully pointing at some historical palace while your friend is elbow-deep in a convenience store snack haul next to you. You should be into it. This is why you came to Korea, right? Culture. Memories. Adventure.

Instead, all you can think about is his mouth on your throat.

Your thighs are pressed together. Not because you're cold — it's 25 degrees and humid — but because the seat vibrates just enough to remind you what you're missing.

And you are missing it. God, you're missing it.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

One night. A hot, reckless mistake.

You weren't supposed to think about him every time you close your eyes.

But you do.

You think about how he tasted. How his voice dipped when he called you yeppo.

How he fucked you like he was mad at time itself.

How you came so hard your knees gave out after.

Your phone's in your hand before you even realize it.

You open Instagram. Find his DM.

He hasn't messaged you. You haven't messaged him. Not once.

Because you both assumed it was a one-time thing.

You both acted cool the next morning.

But now?

Now you feel like you're going to lose your mind if you don't get your hands on him again.

So you type:

you home? bc i'm not doing this tourist shit anymore, i'm thinking about your hands and it's annoying. fix it

You hit send before you can regret it.

You stare at the screen.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

And then the little typing... bubble pops up.

where are you

You bite your lip.

somewhere in insadong. kill me.

Another pause.

Then:

come here door's open. if you're fast, i'll fuck the attitude out of you.

You're already standing up.

Your friend blinks up at you mid-crunch, a shrimp chip half-hanging from her mouth. "Where are you going?"

You don't even try to play it cool. Your phone's still in your hand, your pulse already spiking. You say it like a confession. Like a sin.

"To get fucked."

She chokes on her chip. "Excuse me?"

You glance out the window, squinting like you might spot a cab just by willpower alone. "I'm serious. I can't do this right now. I don't care about some 14th-century scroll or—whatever. I need him."

Her jaw drops. "Oh my God. You mean the club guy?"

You nod once.

She breaks into a grin so smug you almost turn around and throw her snack bag out the window.

"You little slut," she says, delighted. "This is your first holiday romance."

You whip your head around. "It's not a romance."

She fake gasps. "Right. Sorry. My mistake. Just casual, totally impersonal, post-tourism cultural exchange dick."

You shoot her a glare. "There's nothing romantic about the way he fucked me last time."

She wiggles her eyebrows. "Exactly. That's what makes it romantic."

You groan, dragging a hand through your hair. "I hate you."

"You love me," she sing-songs. "And I love this for you. You really are experiencing all of Korea, huh? Palaces, hanbok selfies, spicy noodles, and now a hot local rearranging your guts."

You flip her off with both hands.

She cackles. "Go get wrecked, bitch. I'll tell the tour guide you got food poisoning."

You're already on your phone again, pulling up the taxi app.

Your legs bounce as you wait for a driver. It can't come fast enough. Every minute feels like a test of your self-control, and right now? You have none.

The second that cab pulls up, you're gone.

You don't even look back.

You've got one destination.

One objective.

And if Su-bong still has his door open?

You're not leaving until your legs stop working.

You're breathless by the time you reach his door.

Not from the stairs. Not really.

From anticipation. From heat crawling up your neck. From the buzz of your phone screen still echoing in your mind.

door's open. if you're fast, i'll fuck the attitude out of you.

You knock anyway.

Three short raps. Not shy, but not cocky either. Like you're daring him to make this real again.

The door swings open almost immediately.

And there he is.

Su-bong.

Leaning one shoulder against the frame, shirtless, wearing a pair of black sweats that hang just low enough to wreck your concentration. Hair messy. A faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone, like he was already pacing before you got here.

His eyes drag over you slowly — from your flushed face to your bare legs — then back up.

And that smirk appears. Lazy. Confident. Fucking lethal.

"You ran here?" he says, voice low and teasing. "So... desperate."

You roll your eyes, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. "I was already nearby. Don't flatter yourself."

He lets you pass — but not without his fingers brushing the small of your back as you do.

"Ahh," he murmurs behind you, shutting the door. "Yes. Okay. No flattering."

A pause.

Then — quieter, smug —

"But you came for me."

You spin on your heel, raising a brow. "Don't act like you didn't like that."

His grin widens. "I like everything. You. The way you look at me. The little skirt. The..." — he gestures vaguely, searching — "face you make when I touch you."

You snort. "You're terrible at compliments."

"I'm amazing at compliments." He corrects, pointing at himself. "My English—ehh..." — he wobbles his hand — "so-so. But my eyes?" He taps his temple, then lowers his voice, "my eyes say... fuck yes."

You laugh despite yourself. "Jesus Christ."

He shrugs. Steps closer. "Not Jesus. Just Su-bong."

You shake your head, biting back a grin. "You're ridiculous."

"Mm. What is... ridiculous?" he repeats slowly, the word heavy in his mouth.

You wave your hand. "You. Your ego. The fact that you think I came here just for your dick."

He raises a brow. "No?"

You hesitate. Then shrug. "...Okay. Yeah. I did."

"Ah-ha." His smile turns devilish. "So honest today. Honesty is sexy."

He's standing right in front of you now. Close, but not touching. His eyes flick to your mouth, then your collarbone, then back up.

"Three days," he murmurs. "No message. I thought you disappear."

You arch a brow. "You didn't message me either."

He nods once. "Because if you want it, you come back." His gaze sharpens. "You are the kind of girl who decides."

You blink. Caught off guard. "That a compliment or a read?"

He shrugs again. "Yes."

That makes you laugh.

He watches you — pleased — then speaks in Korean, smooth and fast, something that sounds like a string of soft consonants and rolled vowels.

You stare at him. "What?"

He chuckles. Repeats it — slower this time.

Still nothing.

You throw your hands up. "I have no idea what you just said."

He leans closer. "Then just say 'ne.'"

"Ne?"

He grins. "Good. Now you agree to everything."

You narrow your eyes. "You're dangerous."

He nods solemnly. "Ne."

The silence stretches for a beat — thick with everything unspoken. Everything you came back for.

You break it first. Quiet, honest. "You thought I wasn't coming back?"

He lifts one shoulder. "Not many people come back. Not for me."

You tilt your head. "Why not?"

He considers. "Maybe I fuck too good."

You snort. "Oh my god."

He laughs, then gestures to the couch. "Sit. Talk. Or do you want me to take your clothes off now?"

You smirk. "That eager?"

He taps his temple again. "Not just a fuck. I like... your voice. Even when I don't know your words."

You sit slowly, eyes still on his, heart racing with something that's not just lust.

And for now?

You let the tension sit between you.

Coiled.

Breathing.

Hungry.

You lean back on the couch, eyes dragging over his bare chest — the way his muscles shift when he moves, the tattoos that disappear beneath the waistband of his sweats, the lazy, dangerous way he watches you like he already knows you're about to break.

You don't try to hide your stare. You let your gaze trail down his torso, slow and obvious, then back up to his face.

He smirks, pleased.

Then — without warning — he leans forward and hooks a finger in the neckline of your crop top, tugging it down in one smooth motion.

Your breath catches.

Your chest bounces free. No bra. No warning. You gasp, eyes wide, heart hammering.

He grins like a wolf.

"No bra?" he laughs. "Crazy girl."

His eyes linger for a moment, greedy but amused, then flick back to your face.

"What?" he shrugs. "You can see me shirtless but I can't see you shirtless?"

You arch a brow, sliding closer — slowly, intentionally — your thighs brushing his.

"Mmm," you hum, tilting your head. "It's not the same."

He narrows his eyes, playing along. "How?"

You lean in, voice dropping just enough to make him tense. "You shirtless is a threat." You drag your nails lightly down his chest. "Me shirtless?" Your fingers dip lower, teasing the waistband of his sweats. "That's a promise."

His lips part — like he wants to say something cocky, something smug — but nothing comes out.

Instead, he just watches as you reach back and tug your shirt off fully, letting it drop behind the couch. The air hits your skin, your nipples already stiff from anticipation, and his eyes go dark.

You straddle one of his thighs now, close enough to feel the heat of him, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

"You know what I was thinking about," you murmur, voice thick, "on that boring-ass tour today?"

He swallows, eyes locked on your mouth. "Tell me."

You graze your nails down his stomach, slow and teasing.

"You. Your hands. Your mouth." Your fingers curl into his waistband. "The way you didn't even let me finish catching my breath last time before you had me coming again."

He exhales hard through his nose.

You press your body closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "I want you to fuck me on this couch. I want your dick inside me so deep I forget my own name. I want you to make me beg in English, in Korean — I don't care. Just... make me say something."

He growls — low, rough — and grips your hips. "Jesus."

"Still not Jesus," you tease against his jaw. "Still just Su-bong."

That makes him laugh — hoarse and wrecked — and before you can say another word, his hand is on the back of your neck, pulling you in.

He kisses you.

Hard.

No warm-up. No hesitation.

His mouth crashes into yours like it's necessary — like he's been starving for the taste of you. Your hands tangle in his hair immediately, your body pressing against his bare chest, and he groans into your mouth, deep and low.

Your thighs tighten around his leg as he shifts, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down your back to your ass, gripping like he can't decide whether to lift you or pin you down.

You bite his bottom lip — just enough to make him gasp — and he retaliates by sucking on your tongue like he owns it. The kiss turns filthy fast, spit-slick and breathless, your hips rolling without even realizing it.

His hands are everywhere. Palming your tits. Thumbs brushing your nipples until they ache. One hand dipping between your thighs to press against your panties, groaning when he feels how soaked you already are.

"Fuck," he mutters, his accent thicker now, voice rough. "Already so wet?"

You moan into his mouth. "Told you I've been thinking about you."

He pulls back just enough to look at you — lips swollen, eyes dark.

Then switches to Korean, something low and sinful that you can't understand.

You blink. "What?"

He smirks. "I said..." He leans in, lips brushing your neck. "You drive me fucking crazy."

You grind against his hand, head falling back. "Good."

And then he's kissing you again — deeper this time, slower. His fingers push aside your panties and slide between your folds, slick and hot, and he groans at the feel of you. One finger, then two — curling just right, just enough to make you gasp and clutch his shoulders.

You rock against him, messy and desperate, moaning into his mouth as his fingers work you open, his thumb circling your clit with maddening control.

"You feel this?" he whispers. "My fingers..." He pumps them deeper. "Soon, my cock. Right here. On this couch."

You're panting now, lips swollen from his, hips rolling shamelessly into his hand. "Su-bong—"

"Say it again." He kisses your throat. "Say my name like that again."

You do.

Between gasps, between kisses, between the moans he pulls out of you with every filthy touch.

His couch creaks beneath you, the air thick with sweat and breath and everything you swore this wasn't supposed to be.

And neither of you gives a damn.

You've soaked through your panties, your chest bare, his fingers inside you and his mouth wrecking your throat in slow, filthy kisses. You can't stop moaning, can't stop moving — your hips rocking against his hand like you're trying to climb out of your own skin.

And then it's too much.

You want more.

Not fingers. Not teasing.

Him.

Your hand slips between you — grabbing the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down hard enough that he grunts.

He lifts his hips, helps you, lets you strip them down just enough to free his cock — thick, flushed, heavy against his stomach.

Your breath stutters.

"Fuck, look at that," you whisper, wrapping your hand around him, giving him a single stroke just to feel the weight of it. "So hard. Did I do that?"

He groans, head tipping back.

"Yes, you," he mutters, accent deepening with every breath. "You're—shibal—you're evil."

You press your forehead to his, grinning, wild. "No, baby. I'm starving."

And then you're lining him up — no hesitation — sinking down onto him in one slow, devastating motion.

"Shit—" you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, I missed this. Missed how full you made me."

He hisses through his teeth, hands gripping your hips like a vice.

"You're insane," he growls. "Three days and you come back like this?"

You roll your hips, slow and filthy. "You think I could do that tour shit knowing this cock exists? You think I gave a fuck about palaces?"

He groans, watching your tits bounce as you start to ride him — hard, fast, no patience. Every sound you make is high and desperate and ruined.

"Crazy girl," he mutters. "So needy. So fucking wet. You want me to break you?"

"Do it," you pant, nails dragging down his chest. "Choke me. Fuck me. Spit in my mouth. I want everything. I want to feel it tomorrow."

His hand flies to your throat in one swift movement — not tight yet, just enough to make you still.

"You're sick," he whispers.

You lick your lips. "So make me worse."

His grip tightens. Your breath stutters.

You fucking love it.

He pulls you in for a kiss — tongue deep, filthy, biting your bottom lip until you whimper — then pulls back just enough to stare at you.

"Say you're mine," he growls.

"I'm yours," you gasp, hips still working.

"Say you're my good girl."

"I'm your good girl—fuck—Su-bong, please—"

"Say it again."

"I'm your good girl. I'm your good little slut, please—"

His eyes darken.

Then he's grabbing your ass, guiding your thrusts, his hips bucking up into you now — fucking up into you so hard you bounce. His hand finds your throat again, tighter now.

"You're perfect," he growls. "So dirty. You were made for this."

"Tell me you'll come inside me," you whine. "Please. Please, Su-bong— I need it, I want to feel it leaking out of me—mark me—please—"

He groans, visibly hesitating. "I shouldn't—"

"Do it. Ruin me. I'll come so fucking hard if you do—please, fill me up like you own me—"

He snaps.

His thrusts go brutal — deep, fast, punishing. He's growling in Korean now, things you can't understand but feel, one hand choking you, the other gripping your thigh so hard it might bruise.

And then he lets go of your throat just long enough to pull you down and kiss you — messy, gasping, all teeth — as he spills inside you.

You moan loud into his mouth, your whole body locking up as you come with him, your pussy milking him so tight he groans again, head falling to your shoulder.

You both go still.

Shaking.

Breathing hard.

Bodies glued together with sweat and cum.

You think it's over.

He definitely does.

He leans back, brushing his thumb over your cheek, his breath finally slowing.

"You're..." he starts. "Fucking dangerous."

You kiss him again — soft this time. Sweet.

And then?

You start moving.

Rocking your hips again, slow and tight, still full of him.

He blinks. "Wait—what are you—?"

You whimper. "Again."

He groans. "Jagiya, I don't—fuck—I don't know if I can—"

You roll your hips harder, clenching around him, kissing his jaw. "You can. You will. I need you again. I want to feel you break me this time. Please, Su-bong—don't stop—"

He exhales like he's in pain.

Then grips your waist again.

"Fuck it," he mutters. "One more."

And he gives you everything.

Again.

—

You didn't leave.

Not right after.

You ended up tangled in Su-bong's sheets, bruised and boneless, your thighs aching, your lips swollen, your body still clenching around the ghost of him. You fell asleep with his hand on your hip and woke up that same afternoon to the lazy weight of his arm still draped over you like he hadn't meant to fall asleep there either — but didn't regret it.

Now?

You're walking next to him in a back alley that smells like meat and oil, the sun too bright, your body still buzzing. You're wearing one of his shirts — oversized, sleeves rolled — and he's in a black tee, slouched into it like he owns the whole city and you're just tagging along.

Which, to be fair, you are.

He's leading you somewhere.

You don't ask where.

It's not a date — no one said the word — but you're both acting like it is.

Eventually he stops at a street cart wedged between two storefronts, the kind with plastic stools and an auntie already stirring sauce in a bubbling pot. He talks to her in quick Korean, hands moving with it, and you catch none of it.

She hands him two steaming paper bowls of tteokbokki. He passes you one. "Eat. Don't cry."

You eye it. "You think I can't handle spice?"

He smirks. "Most tourists die."

You take a bite. Immediately regret everything.

"Jesus—" you wheeze, coughing as your eyes water.

He laughs. Hard. "Ya! I told you! Ganjang yes, gochu-noona no!"

You glare. "What does that even mean?"

He grins. "Don't worry. Language lesson starts now."

You fan your mouth, tears threatening to spill. "What, so you can mock my pronunciation like a dickhead?"

He just smirks harder. "Say thank you. For food. For me. Ready?"

You groan. "If I survive this."

He taps the table, slow and deliberate. "Gam. Sa. Ham. Ni. Da."

You blink. "Gahm... sa... ham... knee... dah?"

He winces. "Oof. That was murder."

You narrow your eyes. "Say that again."

He leans closer, smug as hell. "Gamsahamnida."

Slower now: "Gam. Sa. Ham. Ni. Da."

You try again, biting the syllables out like you're chewing them. "Gamsa... hamnida?"

He nods, pleased. "Not bad. Cute."

You tilt your head. "That a real compliment, or more of your bullshit?"

He shrugs. "Little bit of both."

Then he mutters under his breath, "Jinjja, neomu gwiyopda..."

You squint. "What does that mean?"

He smirks. "Maybe nice. Maybe dirty. Maybe insult. You'll never know."

You gasp. "Excuse me?"

"You don't know Korean," he teases. "I could say anything."

You lean in closer, voice low. "You keep teasing me like that and I'll drag you into that alley and prove I'm not too tired to ride you again."

He freezes. Blinks at you.

Then groans, dragging a hand over his face like he's praying for strength. "Shibal... don't say things like that in public."

You grin. "Why? Gonna get hard in front of the tteokbokki lady?"

He huffs a laugh and tosses a piece of rice cake at your bowl.

You catch it with your chopsticks. Smug. Victorious.

The breeze picks up, and your thigh brushes his under the tiny table. His eyes flick to the contact but he doesn't move away.

He leans back, staring at you like he's trying to figure you out — and failing.

"You're different," he mutters. "Not just sexy. Something else."

You tilt your head. "Something good?"

He pauses, then nods once. "Yeah. Gamsahamnida."

You laugh. "For what?"

He doesn't answer.

Just looks at you.

And eats like he didn't just say something kind of fucking real.

You stare at him for a second longer than you should.

Not because he looks good — though he does, with sauce on his thumb and sweat curling at his temples and that silver chain glinting at his collarbone.

But because that line — that "something else" — hit you harder than expected.

You're still chewing it over when he speaks again. Casual. Low. Like he's talking about the weather. "Stay over tonight?"

Your chopsticks pause halfway to your mouth. "My friend—"

"Gets to see you every day." He doesn't even look up as he says it. Just picks up another piece of rice cake and pops it in his mouth. "Me?" He shrugs. "Only three more days."

He says it like it's the obvious choice.

Like staying over is the only thing that makes sense.

Like it's already been decided.

You swallow. Hard. That number echoing in your chest.

Three.

And somehow, it already feels like not enough.

You don't answer Su-bong right away.

Instead, you pull out your phone and call your friend — the one who's been more than patient, the one who covered for you, teased you, practically pushed you off the tour bus.

She answers on the second ring, breathless and probably mid-shopping spree. "You're alive."

You roll your eyes, even though you're smiling. "Barely."

You glance at Su-bong, who's sipping from a water bottle now like he didn't just emotionally blackmail you into staying over. You lower your voice.

"Hey, uh. So... he asked me to stay the night."

"Obviously."

"Are you mad?" You hesitate. "You sure you're okay with that? I don't wanna ditch you—"

"Babe," she cuts in. "You're being dicked down by the hottest man in Seoul. Live your dream. Just don't forget I exist."

You exhale. Relief and something warmer curling in your stomach. "You're really not mad?"

"Mad? I'm living for this. But." Her voice sharpens — mock-serious. "One condition."

You wince. "I knew that was coming."

"He has to take us somewhere tonight. Somewhere local. No tourist traps. I want the real Korean experience. Party style."

You glance at Su-bong again.

He raises a brow.

You cover the mic. "My friend says if I stay over, you have to take us somewhere tonight. A real Korean party. Not tourist shit."

He grins immediately. "Easy." Pulls out his phone like it's already handled. "I know place."

You mouth, "Where?"

He's already scrolling through his contacts. "Nam-gyu's house. My friend." Beat. "He throws parties. Loud ones."

You raise a brow. "Like, music and drinks or...?"

"Yes. Food, games, music. Se-mi, Gyeong-su, Min-su will be there." He looks up from his phone. "You'll see. It's not club. It's... better."

You pull the phone back to your ear. "He's calling one of his friends now. House party. Locals only. You in?"

There's a beat of silence, then your friend practically shrieks, "fuck yes I'm in."

You grin.

Su-bong's already got the phone to his ear, speaking rapid Korean — casual, animated, confident. You can't understand a word, but the tone is easy. Familiar.

He glances over at you mid-call, expression warm.

And you realize...

He's not just including you.

He's folding you into his life, piece by piece.

And you don't know what that means yet.

But for tonight?

It means one thing.

You're staying.

—

The apartment is already alive when you arrive.

It's tucked on the top floor of an older building near Hapjeong, the hallway narrow, the stairwell painted in peeling beige. But the second Nam-gyu's door swings open, it's like stepping into another world.

Warm lights. Music pulsing low from someone's Bluetooth speaker. The smell of fried chicken and alcohol already thick in the air. Shoes scattered at the entrance. A couch that's clearly seen too many bodies. Someone's jacket draped over a plant. A stack of soju bottles on the table like decoration.

The second you and your friend step in behind Su-bong, heads turn.

Everyone's already buzzing — loose-limbed, flushed cheeks, laughter bleeding from every corner. The music dips just low enough for voices to cut through.

"Yaaaa, Su-bong-ah!" a voice calls from the kitchen.

A guy with a snapback and an unbuttoned shirt jogs over — tall, lean, grin already in place.

"This him?" your friend whispers.

You nod. "Nam-gyu i'm assuming."

He greets Su-bong with a one-armed hug and claps him hard on the back before turning to you and your friend.

"You must be the foreigners," Nam-gyu says with a thick accent, grinning wide. "Welcome to my house-slash-party-slash-chaos."

You laugh. "That's exactly what we were promised."

He bows slightly. "Nam-gyu. I speak English, good... well, good enough to get you drunk, bad enough to never say sorry."

"That's perfect," your friend chirps. "That's all we need."

Nam-gyu waves someone over. "Come, come — meet everyone."

From the kitchen, another guy appears with messy dark hair, dressed in a striped tee and cargo pants. He looks about five seconds out of military service and ten seconds into a buzz.

"Gyeong-su," Nam-gyu says, pointing.

"Hello," Gyeong-su says with a polite bow. "Nice... meet... you."

He looks like he used all his English in one go and immediately retreats with a red-faced smile.

Then a girl with black hair and perfect winged eyeliner steps out of the hallway, holding two soju bottles between her fingers like claws.

"Se-mi," she says before Nam-gyu can introduce her. "And yes, I speak English."

"Fluently?" your friend asks.

"Fluently enough to flirt with your friend," Se-mi smirks, eyeing you playfully before winking at Su-bong. "But I won't. Su-bong is scary."

Su-bong snorts. "You're scared of me but not Nam-gyu?"

Se-mi shrugs. "Nam-gyu buys me food."

Last to appear is a guy with a loose sweatshirt that reads "K-Drama Ruined My Life." He holds a bag of chips in one hand and a soju shot glass in the other.

"I'm Min-su," he grins.

You end up cross-legged on the floor with the others, a full circle formed around a pile of drinks. Your friend is already chatting animatedly with Se-mi and Min-su, while Su-bong sits beside you, thigh pressed to yours.

Nam-gyu claps his hands once. "Okay. First game — easy. Baskin Robbins sam-sib-il!"

You blink. "Isn't that an ice cream brand?"

"Also a game," Nam-gyu grins. "Here's how it works: You take turns counting from 1 to 31. On your turn, you can say one, two, or three numbers — but only up to 31. The person who lands on 31 has to take a shot."

"It's evil," Se-mi adds, pouring the soju. "There's strategy. Betrayal. Drama."

"And shots," Gyeong-su says solemnly.

You catch Su-bong's eye and smirk. "I'm screwed."

He shrugs. "Maybe. But cute when drunk."

The game starts.

"One," Se-mi begins, smirking.

"Two, three," your friend says confidently.

"Four," Min-su grins.

And around it goes.

The numbers fly fast. Everyone starts laughing when Nam-gyu and Su-bong try to sabotage each other by jumping numbers. Gyeong-su has no idea what's going on but yells numbers proudly anyway.

When the count hits the twenties, tension spikes. Every number feels like a death sentence.

You land on 27.

You hold up one finger. "Twenty-eight."

Su-bong next to you smirks. "Twenty-nine... thirty."

"Shibal..." Nam-gyu blinks. "Thirty-one!" Everyone bursts out laughing as Nam-gyu throws his head back with a groan and downs the shot. "You did this to me," he glares at Su-bong.

"You deserve it," Su-bong mutters back.

Nam-gyu wipes his mouth and turns to you.

Leans just a little too close.

His grin goes playful. "So. Foreigner. You got a name or should I just call you yeppeun geunyeo?"

You blink.

Su-bong doesn't.

His hand on your thigh tightens. His jaw flexes.

"Ya," he snaps. "Geumanhae."

Nam-gyu lifts his brows innocently. "Mwo? Joke-joke. She's hot."

That's when Su-bong really lets go — in Korean first, voice low and rough. "Ya, jinjja—geuman. Ije jeongmal—aniya. Nae yeoja, molla? Apeseo—geunyeo nae—"

He cuts himself off. Then glances at you.

And switches to English. "My foreigner. My girl."

The group goes quiet for a second — half amused, half unsure if a fight's about to happen.

But you?

You laugh.

Full, delighted, tipsy.

You look at him, still smiling, your hand finding his thigh now under the table.

"That's hot," you murmur, leaning into him. "You being all angry and growling in Korean. Getting possessive. It's so fucking hot."

Su-bong blinks, caught off guard.

Then his mouth curves. That slow, dangerous smirk. "You like that?"

"Uh-huh." You lean in closer. "Next time you wanna yell at someone for flirting with me, whisper it in my ear instead."

His eyes flash.

He says something under his breath in Korean again — quick and sharp — you don't ask what it means.

You don't need to.

Because the way he grabs the soju bottle and pours your glass again, hand brushing your thigh like it's second nature?

You already know.

Half an hour later, the party's deeper.

The music's louder. The soju's hitting harder. Your friend is dancing barefoot in the living room with Se-mi and Min-su, laughing so hard she almost knocks over a lamp. Gyeong-su is passed out against the wall, a peace sign still up in one limp hand. Nam-gyu is pretending he isn't watching the chaos unfold with pride.

And Su-bong?

He's been watching you for twenty straight minutes.

Not in a creepy way. Not even overtly.

Just... watching.

You've been sitting on the couch, sipping on a beer someone handed you, laughing too loud and tugging at the hem of his shirt — the one you're still wearing, oversized and falling off one shoulder.

And maybe it's the lighting. Or the weed. Or the way your lips are curved just slightly, like you're always about to say something filthy.

But whatever it is, he snaps.

"Yah," he mutters, tapping your thigh. "Come here."

You blink. "What?"

He doesn't repeat himself. Just grabs your hand, and the next second, you're straddling him on the couch, his hands firm on your waist like he was always going to put you here eventually.

Your knees sink into the cushions on either side of his thighs, your beer forgotten on the floor.

He leans back, one hand sliding around to your lower back. His other hand? Fishing something out of his pocket.

You raise a brow when you see it — a slim pre-roll and a cheap lighter. "Seriously?"

He shrugs. "Nam-gyu's stash. Said to share it."

You smirk. "And you're just such a generous guy."

"I am," he mutters, lighting it. "Very giving."

The smoke curls between you in the dim light.

He takes the first drag. Holds it. Exhales slow.

Then presses it to your lips, watching as you inhale, slow and cautious.

The burn slides down your throat — smooth, warm. He watches you like he wants to record the way your mouth curves around the joint, the way your eyes soften when the high settles.

"Feel it?" he asks, voice rough.

"Mmhm," you hum. "Feels nice."

He nods. Then—

"Why'd you come to Korea?"

You blink.

It's not flirtatious. Not shallow.

Just—genuine.

You lean back slightly, fingertips resting on his chest. "I don't know. Needed a break. Wanted something... not mine for a while."

He studies you. "Not yours?"

You shrug. "Home feels... small. Heavy. You ever get that?"

He's quiet for a moment. Then takes another hit, passes it to you again. "Every day."

You hold his gaze as you inhale. Exhale. Pass it back.

"You ever been in love?" he asks.

The question hits harder than the smoke.

You let out a soft laugh. "You're really asking that right now?"

He shrugs. "Just wondering."

You glance down at his chest, at the silver chain resting against his shirt.

"Once. A long time ago." You pause. "You?"

He tilts his head. Considers.

Then shakes it once, eyes still locked on yours. "Nah. Not yet."

Not yet.

You wonder what the hell that means, but you don't ask. You're too high. Too warm. Too tangled up in the way he's looking at you like he's trying to figure out your edges — like he's searching for something under the skin.

"You think about it?" he asks after a beat.

You blink. "Home?"

He nods.

You take the joint again. Inhale slow.

Then—

"Every minute." You meet his eyes. "And somehow... not at all."

He doesn't say anything right away. Just slides his hand up your back, fingers curling around the nape of your neck like he needs to anchor himself to something.

"You're not what I expected," he says finally.

You raise a brow. "What did you expect?"

"One night," he says honestly. "Tourist. Tipsy. Quick fuck. Forget your name in the morning."

You nod slowly. "That's fair."

He leans forward. Kisses you. Soft. Slow. Tongue barely brushing yours, lips warm and patient. The kind of kiss that says I want to remember this.

When he pulls back, his voice is a whisper against your mouth. "But you keep staying."

You press your forehead to his. "Maybe I'm not done yet."

The words hang between you like smoke.

Your hands resting against his chest, the smell of soju and weed in the air, the music still thumping faintly from the other room. You can hear your friend laughing with Se-mi again, someone shaking a bag of chips way too aggressively.

But here, on this couch, in his lap, everything else fades.

And then Su-bong says it.

Soft. Certain. Like it's obvious. Like it's easy.

"Extend your stay."

You pause.

Just for a second. Just long enough to feel it land somewhere deep in your chest.

You run your fingers absently along the edge of his shirt, biting the inside of your cheek before answering.

"I can't."

He doesn't speak, just watches you.

So you explain, voice low and honest.

"I've been traveling for two months. Around Asia. Korea's the last stop before I go back to real life."

A small smile, a shrug. "All my money's already gone. My job's waiting. I don't have the luxury of... disappearing here. Even if I wanted to."

He doesn't like that.

You see it on his face — in the way his brows pull together, in the way his lips twist into a pout that's more genuine than dramatic.

"Aish..." he mutters, exhaling hard. "Geureom eotteokhae..."

You blink. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"No, seriously. What'd you say?"

He just sighs, voice heavier now. "Geureom eotteokhae, jinjja..."

You smirk, fingers running along the collar of his shirt. "If you're gonna say something dramatic in Korean, at least help me understand."

He groans. You laugh. And then you shift in his lap, grinding just slightly — slow enough to make his jaw flex, his hands automatically tightening on your hips.

"Why don't we take my friend home..." You lean in, lips brushing his. "...and crash at my hotel tonight, hmm?"

Your voice drops, all heat now. "It's a two-bedroom. And she's a very heavy sleeper after alcohol."

He huffs a quiet laugh, lips curling. "You dangerous woman."

You kiss him. Just once. Firm. Confident.

"So?" You raise a brow. "Are we doing this, or what?"

He leans in, mouth grazing yours as he mutters, "try and stop me."

—

You're not even sure how you made it back.

The city is a blur — neon lights bleeding into pavement, car horns echoing like background noise to your tipsy, giddy laughter. Su-bong walks between you and your friend like some reluctant guardian angel, one arm curled securely around your waist, the other guiding your friend with the patience of a saint.

You and her are drunk, high, and useless.

She keeps singing part of a Blackpink chorus on loop, swaying into parked scooters. You keep mumbling about how good Su-bong smells and how unfair it is that his jaw looks like it could cut glass.

He doesn't say much.

Just keeps you both moving, steady and warm.

By the time you get to your hotel, your friend is half-asleep on her feet. Su-bong helps her into bed, tucks a blanket over her with surprising gentleness, and sighs as she starts snoring immediately.

You sway behind him in the doorway, eyes glazed, hair messy, shirt halfway off your shoulder.

"Well," you mumble, grinning, "she's done for."

He turns to look at you — and you swear you see the shift.

That slow melt from patient babysitter to something hotter, heavier, eyes flicking down your body like he already knows where this night ends.

You walk past him without a word, grab his hand, and pull him through the adjoining door into your room.

The second the door clicks shut, everything turns electric.

There's no finesse. No warm-up. Just hands yanking clothes, breathless kisses, mouths crashing together like you've been starving for each other all night — because you have.

You fall into the bed, Su-bong over you, both of you still laughing through the haze, drunk on everything: the party, the weed, each other.

Your shirt's gone. His pants are gone. His mouth is on yours like it belongs there.

"You smell like smoke," you whisper between kisses.

"You taste like beer," he murmurs, dragging his lips down your neck.

"You gonna fuck me or just make fun of me?"

"Both," he mutters. "Geurom... let's start now."

There's no foreplay. Just a mess of limbs and gasps and mouths.

He enters you in one slow, thick push — no teasing, no warning — and you both groan like it's a relief. Like finally, finally, you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Oh my god—" you gasp, eyes fluttering. "Su-bong, fuck—"

"Shh..." he soothes, kissing your jaw. "Shhh... neomu areumdawo... you feel so good, baby..."

He rocks into you, slow but deep, his chest pressing down against yours, one hand cradling your jaw, the other gripping your thigh. His thrusts aren't polished — they're messy, needy, soaked in sweat and urgency — but every one hits just right.

"You're so warm," he groans. "So wet already... god, I will miss this—"

You clutch at his back, legs wrapping around his hips as he drives into you again, again, again.

"Say something else," you whisper. "In Korean. I don't care what."

His breath catches.

Then he leans close, brushing his lips against your temple.

"Saranghae," he murmurs.

You smile, drunk and unaware, letting the word wash over you like music. "What's that mean?"

He just kisses you and keeps moving inside you like he wants to imprint himself under your skin.

His hips roll into you with slow, dragging thrusts, every inch stretching you open, making you feel like you're unraveling from the inside out. There's no rhythm anymore, not really — just this desperate push and pull, his body molded to yours, skin slick and flushed, breath tangled between kisses.

You cling to him, your legs locked around his waist, arms around his shoulders like you'll fall apart if you let go. His forehead is pressed to yours, his eyes half-lidded, voice rough and low and broken in your ear.

"You're perfect," he whispers. "Fuck... you're mine, jagiya. This pussy—" he groans, dragging himself deeper, "made for me, yeah?"

You nod, whimpering, so gone you can barely breathe. "Yes—fuck—yes, don't stop, please—"

He kisses you then — deep and messy, all tongue and heat, biting your lip between gasps.

"You feel so good, baby," he pants. "So fucking tight, so warm... I don't wanna leave. I wanna stay right here—inside you—just like this—"

Your nails dig into his back, your hips rolling up to meet him, chasing that edge, your body clenched around him so tight it's a miracle he's still holding on.

"Gonna come," you gasp. "Fuck, I'm so close—Su-bong, please—"

He doesn't answer. Just drives into you harder, deeper, groaning every time your walls flutter around him.

"Come for me, jagi," he whispers. "Let me feel you. Give it to me."

And you do — everything inside you coils tight and then snaps, white-hot, blinding. You cry out, your whole body shaking as you clench around him, gripping him like you're trying to pull him even deeper.

"Oh my god— fuck—" you gasp, voice breaking, stars exploding behind your eyes.

"Geurae, geurae—" His hips stutter, and then— "Shibal—"

He buries himself to the hilt and comes, his entire body tensing as he spills inside you, hot and deep, hands gripping your waist like he's anchoring himself to this moment.

He moans into your neck, voice ragged and low, "jugeul geot gata... saranghae..."

You don't understand the words.

But you understand the way he says them.

The way he holds you after, lips brushing your cheek, hand sliding into your hair. Still buried inside you, still panting like he's never coming back down.

And neither of you says anything for a long time.

Because right now?

Words don't mean nearly as much as this.

Eventually, you both slow. Your limbs tangle. The sweat cools. Your breath returns.

He doesn't pull away.

Just lays there on top of you, face tucked into your neck, hand still cradling your jaw like he's afraid to let go.

You run your fingers through his hair, soft and slow.

"You okay?" he murmurs.

"Perfect," you say. And you mean it.

He kisses your cheek. Then your collarbone. Then your shoulder. Just little things. Little touches that say stay.

He helps clean you up gently — wipes between your legs with a warm towel he grabs from the bathroom, kisses your thighs afterward like an apology. Pulls the blanket up over both of you.

You're curled into his chest when it happens.

Suddenly. Quietly.

You start to cry.

Not a breakdown. Not dramatic.

Just silent tears leaking from your eyes as your fingers grip his shirt.

"Hey—hey," he says softly, pulling back to look at you. "Why cry?"

You sniff. Wipe your cheek.

"I don't want to go home," you whisper. "I want to stay with you... just a little longer."

His face softens. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing another tear away.

"Don't cry, jagiya," he murmurs. "We will meet again, hmm?"

You don't know if it's true.

But you let yourself believe it — just for tonight.

And fall asleep in his arms, still warm from his body, his breath steady in your hair, wrapped in a feeling you're too scared to name.

[midnight--sadness]

Poor Gi-hun. Every act of rebellion is just foreplay to In-ho. I imagine Gi-hun losing his temper one day and trying to physically attack the man holding him hostage.

However, In-ho is a lot stronger than Gi-hun so predictably, his little rebel ends up pinned to the floor and held there until he stops struggling. In-ho would be so condescending too. He would pet Gi-hun’s hair and shush him like he’s just an unruly animal.

“Ssh, ssh, it’s ok Gi-hun. Get it out of your system. Once you’re calm, I’ll take you to bedroom. Maybe tonight, I’ll use that pink vibrator that you love so much.”

(Fun fact: Gi-hun does not love the pink vibrator. In-ho only uses it to edge him until he’s sobbing from pure frustration.)

ANON OH MY GOD 🥴🥴

inho not even considering gihun a threat and very easily ending any and all rebellion from his part... gihun trying to fight back as much he can but inho is so well trained that he never stood a chance.. inho punishing gihun and then encouraging that fiery behavior in gihun because he knows it leads to another punishment and those are his favorite 😩

[nicostiel]

#She was the first woman that used her correct pronouns. And called her beautiful. She felt accepted for once.

[khanger91]

@rhubarbspring