Curate, connect, and discover
He looks exhausted when he walks in—a hectic week altogether—tie loose, hair a mess, the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders. You only get a proper kiss before he mumbles something about freshening up, leaving you standing there, needy and restless, watching him disappear into the bathroom.
When he comes back, he’s shirtless, hair damp, towel lazily slung around his neck. He settles on the bed against the headboard, long legs stretched out, a book in his hand. The glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows over his chest, the definition of his collarbones, the slope of his abs. And yet, he doesn’t seem to notice the way your gaze lingers.
You’re curled up at the edge of the bed, watching him, sulking a little. He must feel it, must sense the heat of your stare, because he barely glances up from his book before tilting his head toward you.
“Come here, baby.” His voice is low, lazy, but there’s something in it that makes your stomach tighten. “Sit on me.”
You first didn't understand if he meant his face or his lap, when he takes off his shorts is when you understand.
Your breath catches. “Aren’t you tired?”
A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “And? C'm on, you know both you and I want it.”
That was enough to make warmth pool at the base of your spine. He sets the book aside for a second, beckoning you with his fingers.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice like honey, thick and coaxing. “Missed you.”
It’s enough to make you move before you can think better of it, before you can let the last bit of hesitation keep you away. As soon as you settle onto his lap, his hands find your waist, taking down your panties as you lift your hips up.
He lifts you slightly, making you sit on his cock, it doesn't completely fit, of course, thumbs stroking your skin through the fabric of your shirt as his tip teases that spot.
He picks up the book again, but his eyes flicker down to yours,
“You gonna behave while I read?”
You shift slightly, just enough to make his grip tighten.
His chuckle is low, teasing. “Didn’t think so.”
He picks up the book again, pretending to be absorbed in it, but you don’t miss the way his grip tightens when you shift just a little.
“You comfortable, darlin'?” he murmurs absently, eyes flicking over the pages, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
You hum, pressing your palms to his bare chest, tracing slow circles over his skin. “Mhm,” you breathe, leaning in, brushing your lips over his jaw. He doesn’t react, doesn’t move—just keeps reading like you’re not practically melting against him.
So, you move. Just a little. A slow, innocent shift, dragging your body against his like you’re just trying to get comfortable. His fingers twitch against your waist.
Still, he doesn’t say anything.
You try again, shifting higher, rolling your hips ever so slightly before sinking back down, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck.
His jaw tenses, his breath catches—just for a second—but he keeps his face hidden behind the book, stubbornly ignoring you.
“Baby,” you whine softly, dragging your lips along the column of his throat, your fingers slipping into his hair. He’s so warm, so solid beneath you, and the way he’s acting like he doesn’t care makes heat spark in your stomach.
He exhales through his nose, tilting his head back just enough to let you nuzzle into him, but his voice stays even. “What is it, sweetheart?”
You shift again, slower this time, your body pressing flush against his. His hands slide down, palms warm against your thighs now, holding you in place—but not stopping you.
“You’re ignoring me,” you pout, rolling your hips ever so slightly.
He lets out a low hum, flipping a page with maddening calm. “Am I?”
“Mmhm,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear now. “Feels mean.”
His grip tightens, his fingers flexing, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t stop you. He just lets you move, lets you tease yourself against him while he hides behind the book like you’re not driving him insane.
Finally, after another slow shift of your hips, he exhales sharply, his fingers pressing into your skin. “You having fun, sweet thing?”
You grin, pressing your forehead against his. “Maybe.”
You keep moving against him, slow and teasing, pressing yourself closer, but he doesn’t give in. Doesn’t acknowledge the way your body rolls against his, how your hands roam over his chest, fingertips tracing over his collarbones, his shoulders, the muscles in his arms.
He just keeps his book in front of his face, pretending to be unaffected, though his grip on your waist tightens each time you shift.
Still, you don’t stop.
You press your lips to the curve of his jaw, down his throat, your breath warm against his skin. Nothing. Another slow roll of your hips. Nothing. His chest rises a little quicker, but he keeps reading, keeps ignoring the way you’re growing needier by the second.
So you pull back.
Lift off of him completely, his hands falling from your waist as you shift onto your knees in front of him. He doesn’t say a word, but you can feel his gaze burning into you. Like he isn’t gripping the book just a little too tight.
And then—slowly, deliberately—you pull your shirt over your head. Let it fall somewhere on the bed before you turn around, completely bare.
This time, when you sink on him again, when your skin presses against his, warm and soft, he sucks in a quiet breath. It’s subtle, barely audible, but you hear it—the smallest groan, low in his throat, like he’s finally letting himself react, just for a second.
You smirk, leaning back against his chest, your bare back skin meeting his warmth. His hand finds your waist again, palm splayed across your stomach now, going lower, caressing your public hair, fingers pressing in ever so slightly, then, creeping up to your breasts.
But still—one hand stays on the book, his eyes flickering over the pages like he isn’t affected, like he doesn’t feel the heat of your body against his.
Then—slowly, lazily—his free hand moves up, reaching for the band holding your hair in place. A gentle tug, and your ponytail loosens, hair spilling over your shoulders, cascading down your back.
He exhales, fingers threading through the strands, brushing them over one shoulder before his palm rests lightly against your collarbone. His lips ghost the side of your head, warm and teasing.
You lift again, rolling your hips, teasing yourself against him, but he’s too big—he doesn’t completely fit, and the realization sends a frustrated whimper past your lips. You try again, sinking down only to an extent, but it’s not enough. The slow drag, the aching stretch—it’s driving you crazy.
And then—you feel it. The sharp inhale he takes, the way his fingers dig into your hips, his patience snapping in an instant.
His book is tossed aside without a second thought.
Before you can process it, he grips your waist and pushes you down onto him fully, a deep, strained groan rumbling from his chest as you gasp with a moan, hands flying to his thighs for support. The pressure, the overwhelming fullness—it has your whole body trembling.
Then, he moves.
He leans forward, chest pressing against your back, his warmth caging you in as he shifts, guiding you down onto your elbows and knees. You barely register the change in position before he presses against you from behind, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts that knock the air from your lungs.
A strangled moan escapes you, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he moves again, unhurried but devastating, each motion precise, like he’s savoring the way you fall apart beneath him.
His breath is heavy, hot against the back of your neck. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” His voice is rough, strained, and when you whimper in response, he lets out a low groan, his hips pressing even deeper.
He leans forward, to hear you and to feel your skin better—his arm slides around your throat from behind, not tight, just enough to keep you close, to keep you exactly where he wants you.
His grip is firm but careful, fingers resting lightly against your pulse, feeling the way it races beneath his touch. He groans again, voice husky in your ear as he keeps moving, slow and deep, his other hand holding your waist.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. “Take it. J—just like that.”
Your eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure, and that’s when you see it—the mirror straight ahead, mounted on the wall opposite the bed.
The sight knocks the breath from your lungs.
The reflection captures everything—his body towering over yours, his one hand gripping your waist and the other on your heck, the way he moves against you, desperate, like he can’t get enough. His expression is dark with hunger, his lips parted, chest heaving with each deep thrust, biting and kissing your neck.
You can’t look away.
A choked moan escapes your lips, louder than before, your gaze locked on the image before you. The way you tremble beneath him, the way his body fits against yours so perfectly—it sends another wave of heat through you.
Behind you, he notices.
His pace falters for a second, his head tilting slightly before he follows your gaze—and when he sees it, when he sees himself buried deep inside you, his body covering yours, your dazed eyes, drool from your lips, how you tighten around him, how your moans got louder, his grip on your waist tightens.
A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest.
"You like that view, sweetheart?" His voice is husky, rough with desire.
You can barely manage a response, your moan answering for you, and that’s all it takes.
"Y—yeah? you like that baby?"
His pace shifts—harder, faster, so hard you start moving upwards away from him so he pulls you back on him, as if the sight of you together, of you unraveling beneath him, has pushed him over the edge. His breathing turns ragged, each thrust sending shivers down your spine, and you know he’s close.
So are you.
Your hands clench the sheets, your body arching, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until—
His name spills from your lips, broken and breathless, as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his grasp.
Only then does he let go.
With one final thrust, his body tenses, his own release following yours, a deep groan escaping as he collapses onto you, his weight warm and heavy, pressing you into the bed.
For a moment, neither of you move.
His chest rises and falls against your back, his breath warm against your shoulder, his arms still wrapped around you like he’s unwilling to let go just yet.
Then—softly, teasingly—he presses a lazy kiss to the side of your neck, his voice a deep murmur against your skin.
"Now that," he breathes, a satisfied smirk in his tone, "was a sight worth watching."
A lazy hum vibrates against your skin as he stays draped over you, his weight heavy but comforting, grounding you after the storm you both just weathered. His lips graze your shoulder, soft and lingering, before he finally shifts, rolling off you just enough to let you breathe.
But he doesn’t let go.
Instead, he pulls you back against his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His breathing is deep, still uneven, but his lips find your skin again, trailing slow, featherlight kisses along your shoulder, up to your jaw.
"You okay, sweetheart?" His voice is warm, thick with exhaustion, but there’s a hint of something else too—concern, devotion, the quiet way he always makes sure you’re alright.
You nod, still catching your breath, and he chuckles softly, his fingers brushing lazy circles against your bare skin.
"Did so well for me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss behind your ear.
You sigh, sinking into his warmth, letting yourself melt as he shifts to sit up, reaching over to grab the blanket from the edge of the bed. With careful hands, he pulls it over both of you, tucking you close against him, his body still warm from exertion.
The weight of exhaustion tugs at your limbs, pulling you toward sleep, but just as you begin to drift, you feel it—
A slow, lazy touch trailing along your skin.
At first, it’s featherlight, almost absentminded, like he’s moving on instinct even in his half-asleep state. His fingertips trace delicate patterns along your stomach before slipping lower, pressing against you with a knowing intent.
Your breath hitches.
"Mm," he hums sleepily against your neck, his voice thick with exhaustion but still laced with that ever-present hunger. "Not done with you yet, sweetheart."
The words send a shiver through you, heat pooling where his fingers tease, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the way you react even with his eyes closed. His grip tightens around your waist, keeping you close as his lips press against the curve of your shoulder, a lazy, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
"You can take one more for me, can’t you? I can’t believe I lived without this for a week.”
Usually, he takes his time, his mouth and hands working in tandem, drawing you apart piece by piece, only then do you come on his cock, but tonight, there was a crack in the routine.
He’s tired—so tired—and yet, not enough to resist.
Not enough to deny himself this.
His fingers dip lower, pressing against you, and when he feels the heat, the wetness waiting for him, he lets out a low, satisfied hum.
“I almost forgot,” he murmurs, lips trailing along the curve of your jaw, “how gorgeous you are like this. All flustered, sensitive and red and—”
He presses in, two fingers sliding deep, and the breath you take is sharp, stolen from your lungs.
“—so fucking wet for me.”
His fingers move with a practiced rhythm, slow but deliberate, coaxing you closer. His lips press against your shoulder, murmuring against your flushed skin, a litany of sweet nothings that only make the pleasure coil tighter inside you.
"That’s it, sweet, sweet cunt," he breathes, voice thick with exhaustion but dripping with satisfaction. "Let go for me… just like that."
Your head falls back against his shoulder, body melting into his as he works you through it, his touch unrelenting until he feels you come undone, trembling in his arms. He doesn’t stop until the last wave passes, until he’s sure he’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure from you.
Only then does he ease his fingers out, dragging them up over your thigh, slow and reverent, as if he’s memorizing the way you feel against him. His other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, anchoring you against his chest, clean his fingers by tasting you.
"Missed you so much," he mutters into your hair, voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t think I can go a week without you again."
His lips press against your temple, soft and lingering, before he shifts, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over both of you. His warmth surrounds you, his touch still gentle as he strokes lazy circles into your hip, lulling you into a haze of post-bliss exhaustion.
"You good, sweetheart?" he asks, voice softer now, more tender. You nod sleepily, and he chuckles, kissing the top of your head.
"Sleep," he whispers. "I’ve got you."
And with his arms wrapped around you, his breath steady and warm against your skin, you believe him.
Haha didn’t think I would do ORV? Y’all I need more orv fics, HUGE novel spoilers so beware, but no explicit spoilers so if you are only WEBTOON reader and have no context of the novel you may end up confused, I will write novel free version, and it will be available later this week or next week so stay tuned!
You both were the same, yet different
The both of you had been given the skill “regression,” and thus you both had agreed to be companions, before Kim Dokja appeared followed by a noticeable Han Sooyoung. Beforehand it was just the two of you, the both of you bled together and teamed up in the previous regressions, the two of you wholly relied on each other and swore to always to keep the other in check, regardless of how far along you would be.
When you both met, it was your 0th turn and his first turn. You both were in different cabs and came out of the train, along with Kim Namwoom and Lee Hyunsung. Eventually meeting Lee Jihye and recruiting her aswell saving Lee Seolhwa from Anitus. You barely recall what had happened in that regression aside from bonding with the crew and having a playful relationship with Yoo Joonghuk, you teased him a lot, trained with him, and the two of you became each others support, each others weight. Was that to say the two of you were romantically involved? No, both of you were prioritizing your survival and plus, Yoo Joonghyuk had his little sister to protect. Regardless, you bonded over your power aswell as the fact that you would see each other again in the next life, until your quick end came within a few scenarios.
When you woke in your 1st regression, you recall Joonghyuk calling for you, clearly a bit disheveled, you were happy to see he also was sent back, but sad when you realised your old companions weren’t. It was hard, you couldn’t reminisce with Jihye about the early scenarios, couldn’t bring up the funny moments with Namwoon, or even small talks with Hyunsung unless they happened again…but even if it did they…felt so different. You recalled how Joonghyuk was a bit colder in that round, but still a bit hopeful nonetheless, and then the both of you were approached by Anna Croft, where you found suspicion, he took the offer she gave, an offer to save the world.
Once again Lee Seolhwa was in your group except her relationship with Joonghyuk was much more…comfortable I suppose. You thought you had seen his eyes linger on her on the previous round, and now you were sure because it was clear he had feelings for her. You often told him not to let his feelings take over, for they were in the middle of survival and loving someone would just be tragic, yet he continued to love, and while you warned him for his own good you couldn’t help but feel…petty.
You watched as they would eventually get married, and eventually they even were going to have a child, and while you supported them every step of the way your heart continued to ache, and then Anna Croft betrayed you all. You recall how Joonghyuk cried when his sister died, he looked to desperate at that time, but when Seolhwa and his unborn child died he went mad, so mad that he accidentally killed you, but even as you were dying you held on him tight, hugging him, apologising for being weak and promising you will be there in the next round. By the time he was able to snap out of it he cradled your body, and for the last time he cried, and then it all went black.
When you met in the next regression, his third one, everything that you had gone through felt so…distorted, it was as if after all of that time you went through hundreds if not thousands of regressions ahead rather than just one… but when you met Joonghyuk who looked rather shaken but closed off completely you confirmed it was the 3rd round, after all if it wasn’t the third round what round would it be, a secret unknown round hundreds of rounds ahead?
This round was much different, he considered you his companion but he was so cold, he monopolised what he could and was different from before, but it was understandable considering what he had went through. On top of that not only was Kim Namwoon dead and other people had survived, a suspicious man named Kim Dokja also appeared and had known the future. It was interesting, he knew of Yoo Joonghyuk but when he looked at you he seemed confused, and he was pale when Joonghyuk said you were his companion of his last two rounds despite Dokjas offer, but it wasn’t as if it was because you had taken the offer, it was if you were an anomaly, a glitch in the system, something that wasn’t supposed to exist, or maybe he didn’t know you existed as he seemed confused about your presence. It was different for you as you seemed to have recognized him, you never seemed to have met him but he looked so…familar. He wanted to help, but the last time Joonghyuk trusted someone both of you died horribly, so he tested him by throwing him off the bridge and sure enough, he proved himself through the scenarios.
It was the three of you until Han Sooyoung came along, another woman along with Sangah, Heewon, and Gilyoung who looked familar…it made you think every time you were stumped, but you guys remained close nonetheless. You would train, laugh when Kim Dokja did something to irritate him, and Joonghyuk would try his best to comfort you when you felt like you were gonna go into the regression depression just as you would with him(Though Kim Dokja was the one who would help the most.) There were times where he would even doze off near you, times where he would cook for you and times he would leave you with Yoo Mia, and if either of you “rested your eyes” on each others shoulder, nobody would say a word.
“Do you think this time we will make it to the end?” He asked you surprisingly, you thought his optimism was gone but it seemed that he still had hope left. “I don’t want to get our hopes up but…we have Kim Dokja so I’m sure we will be fine…” You trailed off, but he knew you were worried, he patted your head as he took his leave out of the base. Strange, he didn’t do that ever in this round…
Kim Dokja always took the lead rather than Joonghyuk this time around, and you were grateful as he always protected every one (at the expense of his safety unfortunately, which you would bonk him over the head for.) But even so, the way he always looked at you was so…off, it wasn’t jealousy, in fact Han Sooyoung who often was with Dokja in terms of plans even looked at you confused and suspiciously, it was as if you had never existed beside Yoo Joonghyuk, which couldn’t be true, you were in Joonghyuk previous regressions right? They knew Jihye, Hyunsung, Seolhwa, aswell as others and knew how things worked, and yet when it came to you… perhaps it was some prank as the two were always together, it had to be right? After all you were in the last [redacted] regressions-
“Wait, what did I just say..?” You thought as you blacked out
you were in a dark abyss, but you could hear voices around you, some were panicked and others were calm, and a huge amount of memories flooded through you, yet you couldn’t pick through any of them, they were all distorted, and suddenly you heard a deep but clear voice.
“A shame really,” the deep voice said as you felt a gloved hand stroke your cheek, “after all of those rounds of suffering, I’m left to see him reap the rewards? A companion who could regress despite the presence being non existent before hand.” What? “And a companion who knows the future, and yet that person remains as arrogant and ungrateful as ever.” He wasn’t referring to you, he was referring to that person. You wanted to see who was infront of you, or seemed to be in front of you, but the hands moved from you cheek to your eyes and covered it as your body, “relax,” the voice said somewhat gently, “you will be back with HIM soon.” As you felt your body becoming more relaxed and heavy, you heard him mention that person again, aswell as some mumbling, but there was one sentence you could hear from him clearly, and from the direction of his voice you knew it wasn’t towards you, but towards that person again, and his voice carried both resentment, and sadness;
“Why is it not me but you?”
Credits go to the ORV Novel and its amazing authors, I hope you enjoyed this story! I won’t deny that I actually tried to dig a bit into lore with this fic! I have no plans to write any sort of series in regards to my lore, but I do have an idea of the lore. If I ever do put it out there someone, as long as they credit me can do it in my stead! Farewell!