Forbidden Shadows | Hansoo from Uncle Samsik
Summary: Four years after your sister’s tragic death, your father’s grief and paranoia lead him to appoint Hansoo as your lifelong bodyguard upon your return to Seoul. But despite your father’s strict rules, the tension between you and Hansoo rapidly shifts from watchful duty to dangerous desire, leaving him needing protection from you instead.
Warning: NSFW, Smut, Age Gap, Unprotected Sex / Creampie, Loss of Virginity (fem!reader), Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Mentions of Past Sexual Assault (Mention of Sister's Tragic Death)
A/N: Hello! Just a quick heads-up: this is my first ever writing piece, and English isn't my first language. There might be some weird wording or grammatical errors here and there, so please bear with me! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a like or a comment if you enjoyed it! ✨
After just three days back in Seoul, your father has already assigned Hansoo as your lifelong shadow. He'd said, "For your safety," with that familiar dark expression on his face that comes when he thinks of your older sister.
When you were still fifteen and preparing for your high school exams, she passed away four years ago. The official narrative was ambiguous, people described it as a tragic accident that happened at such a young age. However, you were aware of the reality. One evening, as he poured glass after glass of soju, your father told you himself, his hands trembling and his voice hollow. She had been sexually assaulted. By her boyfriend and his friend, a boy from a respectable family that your father had approved of. Like she was nothing, they had abandoned her body in an Itaewon alley.
After that, he sent you overseas without asking whether you wanted to leave. Anywhere was safer than Seoul, he'd insisted. Safer than the city that had taken one daughter away from him.
Now you were nineteen years old, yet somehow your freedom felt even smaller than before. You couldn't go anywhere alone, couldn't meet anyone without your father's approval, and couldn't take a single step without Hansoo quietly following a few feet behind.
The worst part was that Hansoo wasn't the same man you remembered.
Hansoo is handsome in that effortless way. Sharp features, dark eyes that always seem to be taking everything in, the kind of easy confidence that comes from knowing how to handle himself. You'd left for university when you were barely eighteen. Now you're back, and there's something different in the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not paying attention..
The store, which is located on a corner in Myeongdong, smells of fresh fabric and the subtle sweetness of face powder. Somewhere in the back, a radio crackles out one of those hit trot songs that have been playing on every station lately.
You push through the door, and Hansoo follows a step behind, hands in his pockets, glancing around at the racks of clothes like he's trying to figure out why anyone needs this many options.
"ahjussi," you remark over your shoulder, catching the way his jaw tightens slightly at the word. "You don't have to appear that uncomfortable. It's just shopping."
He says, "I'm not uncomfortable," but there may be a hint of humor in his voice. "Just wondering how long this is going to take."
"Eoseo oseyo!" A saleswoman approaches, her hair set in careful waves, lips painted a modest coral "Are you looking for anything specific today?"
"We're just looking around" you answered politely before wandering toward a display of dresses. Your fingers skimmed over soft fabrics until they landed on a cream-colored dress with a fitted waist. Beside it hung a pale blue blouse, a skirt with a subtle slit, and a sleeveless dress that was bolder than anything you would've worn before leaving Korea.
You picked every single one of them on purpose. "What do you think?" you asked, holding the cream dress against yourself. "Too short?"
Hansoo barely spared it a glance before shrugging. "It looks nice."
"You're the one wearing it." His answer only made you grin.
A few minutes later, you disappeared behind the fitting-room curtain while Hansoo waited outside with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall like this was just another job. small spaces separated by heavy curtains. You slip into one, and Hansoo leans against the wall outside, arms crossed, looking like he's done this a thousand times before.
You can hear him shifting his weight on the other side of the fabric.
The first dress slides on easily, and you turn to check yourself in the mirror. It fits really well, actually. The neckline is modest enough, but the way it cinches at the waist and the length of the skirt... it's modern. Bold, even. The kind of thing that would make older women tsk their tongues.
"Ahjussi," you call out, keeping your voice light. "Can you tell me if this looks okay?"
There's a pause. "I'm sure it's fine."
"But I want your opinion." You reach for the curtain, pulling it open just enough — not all the way, but enough that there's a clear gap. Enough that if he looked, he'd see. "I can't tell if it's too much."
You watch his reflection in the mirror. He's still leaning against the wall, but his posture has shifted slightly, like he's actively trying not to turn his head.
"I don't know anything about fashion," he says, and there's something in his voice — not strain exactly, but awareness.
You adjust the collar, letting your fingers linger at your throat. "I just want to know if it looks... appropriate."
There's a long moment where you can practically feel him debating with himself. Then, slowly — so slowly you almost smile — he turns his head. Just slightly. Just enough.
His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and you watch his expression shift from casual to something else entirely.
"It looks..." He stops. Clears his throat. "Yeah. It's nice."
"Just nice?" You turn slightly, and the movement makes the dress shift, the fabric catching the light from the single bulb overhead. The curtain is still open that crucial few inches, and you're not moving to close it. "Not too revealing?"
"Look—" He runs a hand through his hair, and you can see him trying to find his footing again. "Your father asked me to keep an eye on you. Not to... I don't know, be your fashion consultant."
"I'm just asking your opinion, ahjussi." You emphasize the word, watching the way his jaw tightens slightly. "Unless you think I should ask someone else?"
"No." The word comes out a little too quick. He catches himself, shrugs like it doesn't matter. "I mean... it's fine. You look fine. Get whatever you want."
Fine. You bite back a smile.
You try on the next outfit — the pale blue blouse tucked into the skirt with the slit. This time when you open the curtain that same careful amount, you take a little longer adjusting the fabric, smoothing it over your hips, checking the way the slit falls when you move.
Hansoo has shifted his weight, and you can see the tension in the way he's holding himself now, like he's trying very hard to look anywhere but at the gap in the curtain.
"This one?" you ask innocently.
His eyes cut to you in the mirror again, and this time they linger a second longer than they should. You see him take in the way the blouse fits, the line of your leg visible through the slit in the skirt when you turn.
"It's..." He stops, and you watch him struggle for words. "Very nice."
"You think so?" You turn, giving him a better view, and you swear you see his throat work as he swallows. "I wasn't sure about the skirt."
"The skirt is fine." His voice has gone slightly rough around the edges. "Everything is fine. Seriously, just... get whatever you want."
You let the curtain fall closed, smiling to yourself as you change back into your own clothes. When you emerge with your selections, Hansoo is back to leaning against the wall, but there's a faint flush high on his cheekbones that wasn't there before, and he won't quite meet your eyes.
"all done?" he asks, his voice carefully casual.
"yeah," you confirm, handing your choices to the saleswoman.
You glance at Hansoo. Hansoo had already returned to staring at a fashion poster on the wall, pretending it was infinitely more interesting than you.
Your father had asked him to keep an eye on you.
What he hadn't considered...
...was that Hansoo might end up needing someone to protect him from you instead.
Your father left for Busan early that morning, tied up with a business deal that needed his personal attention. He'd be gone for at least two nights.
Before leaving, he stopped you in the hallway. His hand settled heavily on your shoulder while his eyes searched yours with the same quiet intensity they always carried, as if trying to convince himself you would still be safe the moment he walked out the door.
"Hansoo's staying here," he'd said. It wasn't a suggestion. It wasn't even a question. "He'll be sleeping in the guest room. And you don't leave this house without him. Understood?"
You'd simply nodded, every bit the obedient daughter he expected you to be.
Then you stood in the doorway and watched his black sedan disappear through the front gate, the quiet thud of the car door lingering in the courtyard long after he'd gone.
Now it's evening, and you're alone.
You stand in your bathroom, a towel wrapped securely around you as steam fogs the mirror. The bath had been almost too hot, but you lingered anyway, letting the warmth melt the tension from your body. By the time you stepped out, the delicate floral soap you'd used still clung faintly to your skin and damp hair.
You knew Hansoo would be arriving soon.
The thought makes your pulse quicken as you slip into your night gown, a pale cream cotton with delicate lace trim at the neckline and hem, modest enough to wear around the house but cut in a way that skims your body, hinting at the curves beneath.
It's not overtly sexual, not the kind of thing that screams look at me, but it's soft and feminine and clings just enough when you move. The fabric is thin, almost translucent in certain light, and you're aware that you're wearing nothing underneath.
You pad barefoot down the hallway toward the front of the house, your heart beating a little faster than it should.
You stop by the front door and glance toward the window beside it. Hansoo's silhouette is visible through the glass, tall, still, his hands resting in his pockets. Quietly, you draw the curtain aside just enough to look at him.
He's in a dark button-down with sleeves rolled to his elbows, a lightweight jacket despite the warm evening, and his usual cargo pants. His hair is slightly tousled, a cigarette tucked behind one ear. He looks good, effortlessly, unfairly so, the kind that catches you off guard and makes your heart stumble.
You take a breath, smooth your hands over your night gown, and open the door.
Hansoo's eyes meet yours, and for a split second, something flickers across his face, surprise, maybe, or something sharper. His gaze drops, just briefly, taking in the night gown, your bare feet, your damp hair, and then he's looking at your face again, his expression carefully neutral.
"Hey," he says, his voice low. "Your father asked me to—"
"I know," you interrupt, smiling. "Come in."
You reach out and take his hand before he can react, pulling him gently over the threshold. He steps inside, and you don't let go — instead, you loop your arm through his, hugging it close to your body as you guide him toward the sitting room.
"I'm glad you're here," you say brightly, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. "The house feels so empty when Appa's gone."
Hansoo goes completely still.
You can feel it, the way his entire body tenses, the way his arm stiffens against yours. And you can feel something else too. The way your breast presses against his forearm, soft and warm through the thin fabric of your night gown. The way his breath catches, just slightly, when you shift closer.
"You—" His voice comes out rough, and he clears his throat. "You should put on something warmer. It's getting cold."
"I'm fine," you say easily, leading him into the sitting room. The space is dimly lit, just a single lamp glowing in the corner, casting soft shadows across the low table and cushions. "Are you hungry? I can make tea. Or there's leftover japchae in the kitchen if you want."
"I'm fine." He's trying to extract his arm, but you hold on, tilting your head to look up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"Are you sure? You look tense."
His jaw tightens. Up close, you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, the way his dark eyes have gone almost black in the low light. He smells like cigarettes and something clean, soap, or aftershave. It mixes with the floral scent clinging to your skin, and the combination makes your head swim.
"I'm fine," he repeats, but his voice has dropped lower, rougher. "You should... you should go put on a robe or something."
"Why?" You tilt your head, genuinely curious. "It's just us here. And you're practically family, right?"
The word family seems to do something to him. His eyes flash, and for a moment, you think he's going to pull away, put distance between you, reassert the boundaries that are supposed to exist.
Instead, he stays exactly where he is, his arm caught between the two of you, his gaze fixed on your face as though looking anywhere else would be a mistake, while the steady beat of his pulse against his wrist betrays far more than his expression ever could.
"You're making this difficult," he says finally, his voice barely above a murmur.
"Making what difficult?" you ask, all innocence.
His gaze falls for a moment, settling where your chest brushes against his arm. When he looks back at you, something in his expression has changed. Something raw. Something he'd been trying so hard to hide.
"You know what," he says quietly.
The air between you feels charged, electric. The house is silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, the distant sound of a dog barking somewhere in the neighborhood. You're standing so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the way his chest rises and falls with each controlled breath.
"Ahjussi," you murmur, the word tasting unfamiliar on your tongue. It doesn't carry the same polite distance it once did. If anything, it feels dangerously soft. "You don't have to be so tense," you say with a faint smile. "I'm not going to bite."
His laugh is short, almost bitter. "That's not what I'm worried about."
You smile, slow and deliberate, and finally release his arm. He steps back immediately, putting space between you, but his eyes never leave yours.
"I'll make tea," you say, turning toward the kitchen. You can feel his gaze on you as you walk away, can feel the weight of it on your back, your hips, the way the night gown moves with each step.
Behind you, you hear him let out a slow, shaky breath, the kind that sounds like he's only just managing to keep himself together.
A smile tugs at your lips as you walk down the dim hallway, your heartbeat refusing to slow. You don't have to look back to know he's still standing there.
You don't actually make tea.
Instead, you pause in the kitchen doorway, one hand resting lightly against the frame as you glance back over your shoulder. Hansoo hasn't moved. He remains in the sitting room with his hands buried deep in his pockets, his jaw set tight. The soft glow of the lamp casts shifting shadows across his face, making him look older somehow, but when his eyes meet yours, there's an unmistakable intensity in them.
"Ahjussi," you say again, and this time you let the word linger, sweet and deliberate. "Why are you standing all the way over there?"
"Because," he says, his voice rough, "I'm trying to do the right thing."
"The right thing," you repeat, turning to face him fully. The night gown shifts with the movement, the thin fabric clinging to your body, you catch his gaze lowering for only a second before he pulls it back to your face. "And what's the right thing, exactly?"
"Keeping you safe." His hands flex in his pockets. "That's what your father asked me to do."
"I am safe," you say softly, taking a step toward him. "I'm here. With you."
"That's not—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me." Another step. You're close enough now to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his throat works when he swallows. "Tell me what you're so afraid of."
His eyes flash. "I'm not afraid."
"No?" You tilt your head, studying him. "Then why do you look like you're about to run?"
"Because," he says, and his voice drops to something raw, almost desperate, "you're standing there in that fucking night gown, smelling like flowers, looking at me like—" He stops, his jaw clenching. "And I'm supposed to pretend I don't want to—"
"Want to what?" you ask, closing the distance between you. You're standing right in front of him now, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to see the way his pupils have blown wide. "Tell me ahjussi. What do you want to do?"
"Don't." His voice is strained. "Don't call me that right now."
"Why not?" You reach up, your fingers brushing the front of his shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to call you?"
His hand shoots out, catching your wrist, not hard, but firm, stopping you. "You need to stop."
"Stop what?" You look up at him through your lashes, all innocence. "I'm not doing anything."
"You know exactly what you're doing." His grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "You've been doing it all day. At the boutique. That fucking fitting room—"
"Did you like that?" you interrupt, your voice soft. "Watching me?"
His breath hitches. For a moment, he doesn't answer, and you can see the war happening behind his eyes, duty versus desire, control versus need. Then, slowly, his free hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.
"You're going to get me killed," he mutters.
"My father's not here," you whisper. "It's just us."
You see it happen, the moment the last thread of his control breaks. His eyes go dark, his grip on your wrist tightening as he pulls you flush against him. And then his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding, swallowing the gasp that escapes your lips.
The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or tentative, it's hungry, desperate, like he's been starving for this. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your damp hair, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and you moan against him, your free hand fisting in his shirt.
He tastes like cigarettes and something darker, something that makes your head spin. The scent of jasmine clings to your skin, mixing with his clean, masculine smell, and the combination is intoxicating. You press closer, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, feeling the unmistakable hardness of his cock pressing against your stomach through his pants.
"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, and then he's walking you backward, his hands on your waist, guiding you until your back hits the wall of the hallway. The impact makes you gasp, and he takes advantage, his mouth moving to your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point.
"Hansoo," you breathe, for the first time, you say his name instead of ahjussi, makes him groan.
"Say it again," he demands, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you against him.
"Hansoo," you repeat, and his mouth crashes back onto yours.
His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric of your night gown, making you arch into him. You can feel how hard he is, can feel the way his hips press forward instinctively, seeking friction. Your own hands move to his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he shrugs it off impatiently, letting it fall to the floor.
"Tell me to stop," he says against your mouth, even as his hands slide higher, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric. "Tell me this is wrong."
"I don't want you to stop," you gasp, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure shoots through you. "I want this. I want you."
He lets out a low sound in his throat.
His hands are tugging at the hem of your nightgown and dragging it up your thighs after he lets out a sound that falls somewhere between a moan and a curse. His warm, rough hands move over your bare skin as the fabric bunches at your waist, exploring.
"No underwear," he mutters, his voice thick. "Fuck, you really were trying to kill me."
"I wanted you to notice," you admit breathlessly.
"I noticed." His hand slides between your thighs, and you gasp when his fingers brush over your pussy, finding you already wet. "Fuck, you're soaked."
"Because of you," you whisper, and he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
"You're going to ruin me," he says, but his fingers are already moving, sliding through your wetness, circling your clit. You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand, and he captures the sound with his mouth, kissing you hard as his fingers work you.
"Please what?" His thumb presses against your clit, and you whimper. "Tell me what you want."
"You," you gasp. "I want you inside me."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. "You're a virgin."
"I know." You meet his gaze steadily. "I want it to be you."
For a moment, he just stares at you, breathing hard. Then he's kissing you again, fierce and possessive, his hands gripping your thighs and lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, and he carries you down the hallway to your bedroom, kicking the door open.
He lays you on the bed, and for a moment, he just looks at your night gown rucked up around your waist, your hair spread across the pillow, your chest heaving. The lamp from the hallway casts soft light across the room, and you can see the hunger in his eyes, the way his hands shake slightly as he reaches for the hem of your night gown.
"You're sure?" he asks, his voice rough.
"Yes." You reach for him, your fingers curling into his shirt. "I'm sure."
He pulls your night gown up and over your head in one smooth motion, and then you're completely naked beneath him. His eyes roam over your body, your breasts, the curve of your waist, the soft skin of your thighs, and the raw want in his expression makes heat pool low in your belly.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on you.
He starts at your neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there, his teeth grazing your pulse point. You gasp, your hands sliding into his hair, and he works his way down, across your collarbone, down to your breasts. When his mouth closes around your nipple, you arch off the bed with a cry. His tongue circles the sensitive peak, sucking and teasing until you're squirming beneath him, and then he moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention.
"Hansoo," you whimper, and he hums against your skin, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through you.
His hands are everywhere, sliding over your ribs, gripping your hips, spreading your thighs wider. He kisses his way down your stomach, his breath hot against your skin, and when he reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, looking up at you.
"I want to taste you," he says, his voice low and rough. "Can I?"
You nod, breathless, and he doesn't wait for more permission.
His mouth descends on you, and the first touch of his tongue against your pussy makes you cry out. He licks a long, slow stripe through your folds, groaning at the taste of you, and then his tongue is circling your clit with devastating precision. Your hips buck against his mouth, and his hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him.
"Fuck," he mutters against you. "You taste so good."
He devours you like a man starving, his tongue working your clit in tight circles, then dipping lower to push inside you. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building with each stroke of his tongue. When he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes you see stars, you nearly come apart.
"Hansoo, oh god—" Your hands fist in his hair, holding him against you, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your clit.
He works you with his mouth and fingers, relentless and focused, and the pleasure builds higher and higher until you're trembling, your thighs shaking around his head. When he sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers pumping faster, you shatter, your orgasm crashing through you so hard you scream his name, your body clenching around his fingers.
He doesn't stop, working you through it until you're gasping, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he pull back, his mouth and chin glistening with your wetness, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
He strips off his shirt, revealing the lean muscle of his chest and stomach, and then he's unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants and underwear down his hips. His cock springs free, thick and hard, and you stare at it for a moment, your breath catching. He's bigger than you expected, and a flutter of nervousness mixes with the lingering heat in your belly.
"We'll go slow," he says, reading your expression. He climbs onto the bed, settling beside you, and pulls you into a kiss, deep and slow, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. "I'll take care of you."
But when he moves to position himself between your thighs, you stop him, your hand on his chest.
"Wait," you say, and he freezes, concern flashing across his face.
"Nothing." You push him onto his back, and his eyes widen as you straddle his hips. "I want to try something."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by a flash of heat. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," you interrupt, positioning yourself over him. His cock is hard and hot against your pussy, and you rock your hips experimentally, sliding your wetness along his length. He groans, his hands coming up to grip your hips.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're going to kill me."
You reach between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guide him to your entrance. The head presses against you, and you take a breath, then slowly sink down.
The stretch is immediate and intense, more than his fingers, more than you expected. You gasp, your hands bracing on his chest, and he holds perfectly still beneath you, his jaw clenched with the effort of not moving.
"Take your time," he grits out. "Go as slow as you need."
You lower yourself inch by inch, and the burn of the stretch makes your eyes water. But there's pleasure too, a deep, aching fullness that feels right. When you're finally seated fully on him, both of you breathing hard, you pause to adjust.
"you good?" he asks, his hands stroking your thighs.
"y-yeah," you manage, and experimentally, you lift your hips and sink back down.
The friction makes you both moan. You do it again, finding a rhythm, and the pain fades as pleasure takes over. Hansoo's hands guide your hips, helping you move, and his eyes are locked on where your bodies join, watching himself disappear inside you with each roll of your hips.
"God, you look so good like this," he groans. "Taking my cock so well."
The praise sends heat flooding through you, and you move faster, chasing the pleasure building in your core. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and the added stimulation makes you cry out.
"That's it," he encourages. "Ride me. Take what you need."
You lean forward, changing the angle, and the new position makes him hit deeper. Your clit rubs against him with each movement, and the pleasure builds rapidly, coiling tight in your belly. When your second orgasm hits, it's sudden and intense, your body clenching around him as you cry out, your nails digging into his chest.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, feeling you come around him. "So fucking perfect."
Before you can catch your breath, he's flipping you over, pulling out and repositioning you on your hands and knees. You gasp at the sudden change, and then he's behind you, his hands gripping your hips.
"Is this okay?" he asks, and you can hear the strain in his voice, the barely-leashed control.
"Yes," you breathe, and he pushes back inside you in one smooth thrust.
The new angle is deeper, more intense, and you cry out as he fills you completely. He sets a harder pace now, his control slipping, his hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with your moans and his low groans.
"So tight," he grits out, one hand sliding up your spine to grip your shoulder, pulling you back onto him with each thrust. "So fucking perfect."
The pleasure is overwhelming from this angle, each thrust hitting spots inside you that make you see stars. Your arms give out and you collapse forward onto your elbows, your face pressed into the pillow, and the new position makes him go even deeper.
"Hansoo," you gasp, and his hand slides around to find your clit, rubbing tight circles.
"One more," he demands. "Give me one more."
The combination of his cock pounding into you and his fingers on your clit is too much. Your third orgasm builds fast and hits hard, your whole body shaking as pleasure crashes through you. You scream into the pillow, your pussy clenching around him rhythmically, and he curses, his rhythm faltering.
"Fuck, I can't—" He pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your back, and pushes back inside you in one hard thrust. His mouth crashes onto yours, swallowing your cry, and he fucks you hard and deep, chasing his own release.
"Come inside me," you gasp against his mouth. "Please, Hansoo—"
That breaks him. His hips snap forward one last time and he groans your name, his cock pulsing as he comes deep inside you. You can feel the heat of it, feel the way he trembles above you, and you wrap your arms and legs around him, holding him close.
For a long moment, neither of you moves, both of you breathing hard, your bodies slick with sweat. The scent of jasmine and sex hangs heavy in the air. Finally, he pulls out carefully, and you wince slightly at the sensitivity. He collapses beside you, immediately pulling you against his chest, his hand stroking your hair.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
"No," you murmur, your body still humming with aftershocks. "That was... perfect."
He's quite for a moment, then "your father is going to killing me"
You laugh softly "Only if he find out" you hug him
"He'll. He always does" Hansoo's arm tightens around you.
Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end! ♡
Fun fact: Hansoo is actually one of my absolute favorite Roh Jaewon characters, so I had so much fun writing this! Since this is my first time sharing a story, your support means the world to me. If you enjoyed it, leaving a like, comment, or reblog would make my day!.
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