hi everyone! i wanted to come on here to talk about a current situation surrounding jungwon wearing a very disrespectful shirt towards the kazakh race. which was shown in the recent bloody paradise dance tiktok.
i’m not very educated on this whole topic but from what i know is that borat, (the movie the character is from) was made to disrespect kazakhstan and and make fun of them. from my understanding this made a lot of kazakh engenes upset, which i would get if it was my own culture as well.
the best we can do is educate ourselves on this before being quick to hate on jungwon for it, as well as holding him accountable until we get an apology. i’ll put the pictures and more explanation down here. please boost this as much as you can!
you met because he was assigned to tutor you after you nearly failed a chemistry test, and what was supposed to be a couple of afterschool sessions turned into months of sitting together at the library. everyone expected him to be annoyed by how loud you were and expected you to be bored of how quiet he was, but quite the opposite happened.
𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑘 ◜ ᗜ ◝
he keeps a ridiculous amount of photos of you on his phone. not the glamorous ones you post online either. he likes the blurry pictures where you’re laughing too hard, where your makeup is smudged after practice, the random selfies you send him at two in the morning because you “couldn’t sleep.”
every game day, he arrives way earlier than necessary just to watch your practice. he pretends he’s studying in the bleachers, but every time you look over, he’s already looking at you. and the second you catch him, he immediately drops his eyes back to whatever book he’s reading.
he always has something you forgot. hair ties, bandaids, painkillers, water bottles, charger cables, you name it he has it. at some point you get tired of asking how he knows exactly what you’ll need because the answer is simple: he pays attention to everything.
he secretly loveslovesloves physical touch. not in a clingy way where he’s all over you, but if you’re sitting next to him, his hand is finding yours. if you’re walking together, he’s pulling you closer by the waist. if you’re studying together, he’s practically glued to your size without him realizing it.
juhoon absolutely loves when you wear his hoodies after practice. he’ll act completely normal about it, but internally he’s losing his mind every time he sees the sleeves hanging past your hands. you once stole once permanently and he never asked for it back.
he gets competitive in the weirdest ways. if someone compliments your performance, he’s immediately researching the sport, learning terminology, and becoming your literal biggest cheerleader (even though YOU’RE the cheerleader here).
whenever you’re tired after games, he’ll pull you into his lap while pretending to continue studying. his chin rests on your shoulder, one arm wrapped around your waist, and he reads over your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. neither of you acknowledges how affectionate it looks.
he’s usually incredibly composed, but watching you perform completely destroys his ability to act normal. the confident top student who can present in front of hundreds of people suddenly forgets how to speak whenever you walk over to him still in your uniform.
juhoon loves showing off his intelligence, but only when it helps you. if you mention wanting something, he’ll spend hours researching the best option. if you’re struggling with a class, he’ll explain it until it finally clicks. seeing you succeed because of something he taught you makes him happier than getting perfect grades himself.
he has this habit of pulling you closer by the belt loop of your jeans or hooking a finger through your hand whenever you’re distracted. he doesn’t even realize how much he does it until you point it out.
the biggest misconception about your relationship is that you’re the outgoing one and he’s the shy one. but in reality, juhoon is incredibly confident when it comes to you. he’ll look you directly in the eye, tell you exactly how pretty you are, and then go right back to being awkward around everyone else.
despite being complete opposites, you’re weirdly perfect together. you drag him into moments he’d never experience on his own, and he gives you a sense of stability you never knew you needed. somewhere between library study sessions and crowded game nights, both of you became each other’s favorite person.
james doesn’t say much when he’s clingy—he acts. you’re putting on your shoes by the door, and he’s standing behind you, arms loosely around your waist like he’s trying not to squeeze too tight.
you straighten up. “i’ll text you when i get home.”
he nods, but his hands don’t drop. they tighten instead, pulling you back a step until your spine meets his chest, nestled. he buries his pretty face in your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s trying to memorize the moment.
you laugh softly. “james…”
he shakes his head against your skin. not a no—just a quiet plea.
hiss arms slide fully around you now, locking you in place. he sways a little, like holding you is calming him down. his heartbeat is fast, too fast, and you feel it through his chest.
you try to turn around, but he hugs you tighter, chin hooking over your shoulder.
“just… stay like this,” he whispers, voice small.
you relax into him, and he exhales shakily, hands flattening against your stomach like he’s grounding himself. he presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, lingering—not sexually, not horny, just needy.
when you finally pull away, he follows your movement automatically, like his body refuses to let you go. you cup his cheek, and he leans into your palm instantly, eyes half‑closed. his lashes gently brushing your skin.
“i’ll miss you,” he murmurs.
you haven’t even left yet.
KIM JUHOON
juhoon doesn’t grab you.
he doesn’t beg.
he just… attaches.
you’re lying on his bed scrolling your phone, and he quietly climbs in beside you, sliding under your arm like he belongs there. he rests his head on your chest, one hand gripping your shirt lightly—not enough to trap you, just enough to whisper “don’t move.”
you stroke his hair—soft and sliky, and he melts instantly, his whole body relaxing against yours. his breathing evens out, slow and warm against your ribs.
he doesn’t talk. he doesn’t need to.
every time you shift even slightly, his fingers tighten, pulling you back into place. when you try to sit up, he makes a soft sound—not a word, just a tiny, desperate noise, a whimper almost—and buries his face deeper into you.
you settle again, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath.
after a while, he lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, soft, almost pleading. he doesn’t say anything—he just watches you, like he’s checking you’re still real.
then he tucks himself back against you, arms sliding around your waist, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.
MARTIN EDWARDS PARK
martin pretends he’s fine. he’s not.
you’re getting ready to go out with friends, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed watching you like a kicked puppy. his knee bounces. his fingers twist the hem of his shirt. he keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something but can’t.
you grab your purse. “i’ll be back late.”
he nods, but his eyes drop to the floor. you step closer to kiss his cheek goodbye—and he grabs your wrist, gently but fast, like he didn’t mean to but couldn’t stop himself.
you blink. “martin?”
he stands up immediately, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. his forehead presses to your collarbone—like soft kiss, his breath warm and shaky.
“you’re really going?” he mumbles.
“i told you—”
“i know,” he says quickly. “i know, i know, i’m not trying to stop you, i just—” he squeezes you tighter. “i hate when you’re not here.”
you stroke his back, and he clings harder, fingers curling into your shirt like he’s scared you’ll vanish.
“just… hug me for a second,” he whispers.
you do, and he melts, all tension draining out of him as he holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.
EOM SEONGHYEON
seonghyeon gets clingy when he’s overwhelmed.
you’re sitting on the couch, and he quietly climbs into your lap without asking—knees on either side of you, arms around your neck, face buried in your shoulder.
he’s trembling a little, not crying, just overstimulated and seeking the one place he feels safe—seeking your touch, warmth, just you.
you rub slow circles on his back. he presses closer, practically molding himself to you. his breath hitches every time you move, so you stay still, letting him hold on as tightly as he needs.
after a minute, he whispers, “don’t go anywhere.”
you kiss the top of his head. “i’m not.”
he relaxes instantly, his whole body softening against yours. his fingers curl into your shirt, gripping like he’s anchoring himself.
he doesn’t talk again. he just holds you. and holds you. and holds you.
AHN KEONHO
keonho doesn’t knock, doesn’t call out, doesn’t even pretend to play it cool.
the moment he walks into the room and sees you on the couch, something in him just melts. his shoulders drop, his whole expression softens, and he heads straight for you like instinct.
you barely have time to look up before he’s already climbing onto the couch, sliding into your space with zero hesitation. he tucks himself against your side first, testing the waters—then, when you lift your arm even slightly, he takes it as permission to fully curl into you.
he shifts until he’s half‑lying on you, half‑hugging you, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder. warm, heavy, clingy.
like a needy golden retriever who finally found his person after a long day.
you giggle. “long day?”
he nods against your shirt, his breath warm through the fabric. he doesn’t talk—he just holds on, fingers curling into your clothes like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens even a little.
his legs laced around yours, pulling you closer, trying to erase any space between you.
you u stroke his hair, and he melts instantly, body relaxing in slow waves. he nuzzles into your neck, inhaling like your scent alone is intoxicating him. every time you shift, even slightly, his arms tighten, he starts whimpering and whining.
afer a moment, he lifts his head just enough to look at you. his eyes are soft, big and glossy, tired in a way that makes your chest ache. he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in.
“i love you so much,” he whispers, voice small.
you smile softly, cuppin his cheek. “i love you too.”
he exhales shakily, relief washing over him. he tucks himself back into your shoulder, arms looping around your neck this time, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.
his fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns on your back—grounding himself, reminding himself you’re real.
warnings: swearing, use of the n-word, smut, reader is younger than niki (reader,18 niki, 21), bl0wj0b mentioned, explicit language
context: a pop star and kpop idol finding comfort in each other
It was 3am at the beach, me and my best friend was chilling in our bikinis listening to partynextdoor, brent, drake, and sza while laying in the sand. Perks of being one of the best pop stars in America at the moment, renting a beach house with my girl to have the best summer ever.
“Ya’ll ever heard of Low Down?”
My best friend, Serena, says while scrolling through Instagram. I knew them personally, group of fuck boys who started a little internet friend group, Hype House style, just full of niggas partying and being stupid. I roll over on my back, knees keeping my upper half up.
“Yea I know them, they a bunch fuckboys”
Serena rolls her eyes and shows a picture of one of the boys, long dreads with blonde tips and abs posted up at the gym, that was Quinn.
“Yea well they fine as fuck and I need that”
Before Rena took the phone away you looked in the back of photo and noticed someone, someone that was so familiar you’d never mistake them. You quickly grab the phone causing Rena to flinch slightly and grab her phone back.
“Ho…don’t you ever-“
You cut her off while apologize.
“Sorry sorry, but look at the back of the pic.”
She squints her eyes at her phone before opening them wide.
“HOLY SHIT THATS THAT ONE NIGGA. THE KPOP DUDE YOU FOLLOW.”
You roll your eyes and scoff with a slight smirk on your face.
“His name is Niki and yes. I’ve been a fan of him for years but never had the chance to meet him or do any sort of collab”
You shrug your shoulders thinking about the possibility of your new found fame bringing you closer to your biggest celebrity milestone ever, collating with Enhypen.
Serena quickly gets up and begins grabbing her things.
“The fuck is yo problem?”
Serena kisses her teeth while tilting her head.
“The Low Down boys are at a party right now, ya boy is there. This may be the chance to work your professional magic and make your dream come true.”
She puts one of her hand out, the other filled with her blanket, phone, and other necessities. You smile at her before grabbing hold of her hand and begin collecting your things.
———————————————————————————
Parties were always a fun part of my college life, being a freshman at Howard University, parties were something that me and Rena found ourselves at a lot.
When you entered the room, you were instantly hit by the smell of weed and vapor. A smell that you and Rena never had a problem with, probably because that’s exactly how the beach house smells.
“Ima go flirt and get some drinks, you gon be alright baby cakes?”
Rena takes my hand in hers confirming my safety, I nod and let her go on her way. Serena was always looking out for
me, being one year older, she always loved to
make sure I had everything figured out and that I was safe.
I look around the room before taking a seat in a colorfully lit corner of the room and taking a hit of the wax pen Rena got me for my birthday.
“This seat taken?”
A low, familiar but not heard before, voice asks from behind. I turn, around not knowing what to expect, and see him, nishimura riki, his tall stature towering over me before I clear my throat and nod my head. My mind was racing, it’s happening, this could be the jumpstart my career needs to be a global sensation. Being known in not just the western world, but the kpop world. What a dream.
Niki takes a seat next to me and leans back, I swallow my fear and enter bad bitch mode.
“Do you always hang with the low down boys or just when enhypen is busy?”
I say looking him dead in his eyes with a confidence I managed to pull from some part of my body…most likely my ass. He raises an eyebrow and smirks at me before licking his lips and resting an elbow on his knee.
“Nah, they’re my friends but I’m not apart of whatever they are apart of”
A smile creeps onto my face which causes him to smile back. His eyes scan my face before fixing into a confused stare.
“Wait…I know you”
I tilt my head in shock…does he actually know me or is he bullshitting.
“You’re (artist/name). Wait Jungwon listens to you from time to time. I like that one song you made, (song/name), it’s beautiful”
I smile, pride seeping through my veins.
“I like that one too, it’s about my ex but it stills means a lot to me”
We talked for what felt like hours. About enhypen, my music, the upcoming vmas that we were both invited too and if we were down to hang out after.
Mid-conversation, he leans closer to you, lips inches from your ear.
“Wanna go somewhere quieter?”
He pulls away slightly, just enough to see his eyes. I mouth yes and he takes my hand to lead me upstairs to an empty room. Looking around you see blank walls, minimal decoration, nothing but a desk, gaming set up, and a bed decorated with a black bed set.
“This is the room I stay in while out here. I usually stay with them when we go on vacation or I have a show out this way”
I sit on the chair across from the bed while Niki sits on the bed. He leans back, his muscular arms holding him up.
“You comfortable? you can come sit on the bed.”
From a young age, momma told me not to sit on strangers beds, and as much I respect Niki as an artist, I wasn’t gonna disrespect mommas hard work.
“Nah, Im cool right here”
He tilts his head in a way of acceptance to your decision.
“Cool with me”
The conversation continued where we left off downstairs before the air took a very obvious turn.
“So…that song? about your ex?”
I smile in an attempt to hide my clear embarrassment.
“Yes…I know. It was my first attempt at something on the sexier side”
Niki nodded…biting his lip ever so slightly, eyes glued to the floor beneath him.
“Well, it definitely worked for you”
I raise an eyebrow and get up from my seat to comfortably sit next to him, moving my head to meet his gaze line. His eyes follow mine before smiling and looking off to the side.
“What’s wrong?”
I say, voice low and seductive. I don’t even know why I was even attempting to seduce him. I don’t know him from Eve but all of a sudden I want nothing more than for his lips to touch mine. The fuck is wrong wit me?
“I may have a tiny celebrity crush on you”
My eyes widen and my head tilts, damn near uncontrollably.
“Me?”
He nods, licking his top row of teeth before planting a soft bite on his bottom lip. I bite the inside of my check and smirk before scooting closer to him, hands brushing by each other. His breath hitches and eyes begin to flutter before exhaling.
“I’ve always had a crush on you too”
I whisper to him before landing a gently kiss to his cheek. His hand travels up my leg slowly before finding a nice spot on my waist and squeezing, a small whimper leaves my lips before I have the chance to stop it. His other hand finds my waist and he pulls me onto his lap quickly, tucking a hair behind my ear.
“I’ve fantasized about having you on my lap like this so many times”
He says before kissing my collarbone delicately, hands traveling up my back and tugging me closer up his lap. He moves his kisses up to my neck and ear, leaving a trail of wet soft kisses behind.
“Mama, can I have you tonight?”
I bite my lip before whimpering a soft yes in his ear. He moves his hands up my shirt and unbuckles my bra. Hands moving quick, experienced, not once hesitating. His hips move slowly and passionately towards mine, causing low subtly groans to leave his mouth as his tongue trails up my neck. My hands find their way up his shirt, running my fingers along his abs and muscular chest. His groans slowly turn to moans as my hands trail up and down his abs and his hips gain speed colliding with mine.
“Fuck”
His voice is low, desperate. He gently places me on my back in front of him, removing his shirt to show his abs and tattoos. A long rib tattoo traveling from his waist to his armpit and a kiss mark on his hip. My eyes immediately fall to the kiss mark as I tuck my knees under myself, going into a crawling position, and going towards him. He places his hands under myself chin to look up at him.
“You so damn pretty, mama”
His hand is caressing my check while the other is untying his jaw string.
“On your knees, pretty girl”
I follow instructions and get into a kneeling position, applying kisses to his hard bulge peaking from his grey sweats. His head goes back and his hand runs down my braids.
“Fuck, dont stop”
His head slowly drops back as my tongue runs up and down on him, leaving wet drool marks all over his sweats right where his bulge is. I remove my mouth from its teasing position and hook my hands to the top of his sweats, pulling both his sweats and boxers down simultaneously. His hard dick, already dripping with precvm, springs out in front of me. A small groan leaves his mouth as it hits his stomach. I take it in my hands and begin slapping it on my tongue, starting off slow and gentle before picking up speed and applying pressure. Groans leave his lips as his precvm and my spit mix together with every slap. I circle my tongue around the tip before shoving it in my mouth, deep and quick. The sounds of gagging quickly fill the room with each time I take his length in my mouth.
“Yea baby, take that dick in your mouth. Fuck, don’t stop”
His voice is almost a growl. I could tell he was starting to lose himself. His hand grabs a handful of my braids and begins forcing my mouth over his dick. My hands on his hips barely being able to hold up against his strength.
“Mmm, fuck you look so good swallowing me up baby”
He dick twitches in my mouth as it hits the back of my throat repeatedly causing my eyes to roll back and moans to leave my mouth.
“Aww baby do you like sucking me off? You like me fucking your throat like this?”
His voice was mocking, it kinda pissed me off. I looked up at him, almost glaring at him while taking him deep in my mouth.
“Oh don’t look at me like that, you’re the one getting off to sucking me little mama”
His dick twitched harder and harder as he fucked my throat. I felt myself getting wetter by the moment as it continued. Niki was beginning to shake as his body was beginning to give out.
“Fuck, baby Im gonna nut keep sucking me like this”
I gagged and moaned while looking up at him.
“Where do you want it mama? Huh? Where do you want me nut?”
I point to my tits, peeking out from my very revealing short black dress.
“You want it on your tits baby?”
I nod slowly, eyes beginning to shut from the constant force of his length hitting my throat. He pulls himself out of my mouth and jerks himself off in front of my tits while holding my chin up to him.
“Hold your tongue out for me pretty girl”
I hold my tongue out, eyes stuck on his face as it contorts from the pleasure. He quickly strokes himself before reaching the edge.
“Fuck”
He groans while releasing himself all over my chest. His cum spilling into my bra. His breath begins to slow down and his hand caresses my face.
He sits next to me and grabs napkins from the drawer of the desk in front of us. He wipes my mouth and chest off while landing gentle kisses on my cheeks. He keeps one of his hands on my back.
“I don’t know if you’re cool with this, but I’d love to see you more”
I smile and kiss Niki on cheek, accepting that my dream has become a reality in its own sick, fucked way
@irkkii - i dedicate my first try to you girlie 🙂↕️💗
you kept your eyes shut, hoping maybe if neither of you moved, she'd somehow go back to bed on her own. beside you, ni-ki groaned into the pillow. "pretend we're asleep.."
another knock.
"papa..?"
the time you let out a laugh into the blanket.
ni-ki lifted his head just enough to squint at you through his messy hair. "she said papa. that sounds like a you problem."
you turned toward him, smiling. "a me problem? she literally asked for you."
the door creaked open, and your daughter stood there with sleepy eyes, her blanket dragging behind her like a cape.
"milk.." she mumbled, rubbing one eye.
ni-ki dropped his head back. "see? she didn’t say which one of us has to get it. so we just stay here."
you shoved his shoulder. "go."
"no, you go."
"you're already awake though.."
"so are you."
your daughter blinked at both of you like she was judging the whole conversation.
then she lifted her arms toward ni-ki.
"papa, up."
what a traitor.
he sighed like he'd just lost the biggest battle in the world, then pushed himself up and scooped her into his arms.
"yeah, yeah.. i'm coming, honoka." he said, and his voice softened the second she curled into his chest. "hm? can't sleep, baby?"
her tiny fingers twisted in his shirt while he carried her out to the kitchen, blanket trailing behind them.
by the time you walked into the living room, he was sitting on the couch with her tucked against his chest, one hand holding her bottle while the other rubbed slow circles over her back.
her cheek was squished against his hoodie, eyes already half closed.
ni-ki looked up and smirked. "she obviously likes me better."
you sat beside him and rolled your eyes. "she likes whoever gets up."
"that's still me."
and yes, he was right. every time.
by the time he carried her back to bed, her small arms were wrapped around his neck, half asleep. when he slipped back under the blanket beside you, he immediately pulled you closer.
"see?" he mumbled into your hair. "i'm the favourite."
you laughed softly. "keep telling yourself that, nishimura."
❤︎
the next morning, sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows.
your daughter sat on the counter in her little socks, swinging her legs while ni-ki cut strawberries into tiny pieces for her (atleast he didn't microwave them).
the second she reached for the knife handle, he caught her hand gently.
"no, honoka." he laughed. "papa does the dangerous things."
she pouted at him until he handed her a strawberry piece, then she was happy again, juice already getting all over her cheeks.
ni-ki smiled and wiped it away with his thumb before kissing the top of her head.
"so cute.."
he was like that all day, every day.
kissing the top of her head, fixing the little curls on her face, scooping her up whenever she lifted her arms.
and somehow, he still always found his way back to you.
a hand at your waist while you cleaned up breakfast, or a quick kiss when he walked past, or even a simple 'brushing fingers yours'.
by the afternoon, the three of you were in the living room surrounded by toys and half-folded laundry. your daughter was climbing all over ni-ki, babbling proudly about some toy she liked.
"princess.. papa can't move." he laughed as she sat on his stomach.
the second his eyes found you, his smile changed.
"there's my favourite girl.."
your daughter gasped from where she sat on him. "me!"
ni-ki burst out laughing. "you're my favourite tiny girl."
then he reached for your wrist and pulled you down beside him, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you could even complain.
"hi." he whispered.
"hi, nishimura.."
he kissed you again.
this one being a bit slower, lingering just enough to make your cheeks warm.
when he finally pulled back, his hand stayed warm against your waist, thumb brushing slow circles there while your daughter happily played with the hem of his hoodie.
a little later, after she'd gone down for her nap, the apartment turned quiet.
ni-ki slumped onto the couch beside you and immediately pulled you into his lap, your legs intertwining with his.
"finally.." he sighed against your neck.
"finally what?"
"time with my beautiful wife.."
you rolled your eyes, but the smile was already there, no hiding it. before you could say anything else, he tilted your chin up and kissed you again.
the kind of kiss that made the room feel smaller.
his hand stayed at your waist, fingers pressing gently there while he kissed you like he'd been waiting all day, impossible not to melt into.
when you pulled back for air, he just smiled and pressed one more kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"missed you.."
"you've literally been attached to me all day."
"still missed you.." he said.
that made you laugh, and he used it as an excuse to kiss you again.
then the baby monitor crackled.
a sleepy little sound came through it.
both of you froze.
ni-ki groaned and let his forehead fall to your shoulder. "she has the worst timing."
you laughed, brushing his hair back. "go get your daughter."
he stood up with the most offended expression ever. "my daughter? she's our daughter."
but he was already walking toward her room with a smile.
because for all the teasing, the fake arguments, the clingy kisses, and the lazy afternoons, he always went.
james moves in quiet circles around you, steps brushing past warm air like drifting ink. spiral pull grows inside him, gentle at first, curling through hair, breath, gaze.
no harshness, no panic—just warm gravity folding back into you again and again.
morning light paints soft spirals across his cheek. he sits beside you, shoulder touching yours, voice low and warm.
“you slept okay?” you nod, brushing a curl away from his forehead. curl loops back instantly, as if drawn by invisible hand.
james laughs softly. “it keeps doing that.”
steam rises from cups in perfect rings. wind outside twists in slow coils. patterns appear on his wrist when sunlight hits skin just right. he doesn’t notice any of it. he only notices you.
“come here,” he murmurs, fingers brushing your waist. touch circles once, twice, settling only when your hand meets his. pulse jumps under your thumb, spinning in tiny loops.
“you feel warm,” you whisper. “only around you,” he answers, leaning in until breath brushes your lips.
afternoon brings quiet hum. shadows curl around his silhouette, soft spirals drifting across walls. he watches them with dreamy calm.
“everything keeps turning,” he says, voice almost dazed. “does it scare you?” he shakes his head, curls bouncing. “no. it feels like… guidance.”
he steps closer, forehead pressing to yours. breath loops in slow, warm circles. “you’re center,” he whispers. “everything pulls me back to you.”
evening settles with spiral moonbeam across his jaw. he lies beside you, tracing circles on your shoulder with fingertip, each one smaller, tighter, sweeter.
“james,” you murmur, “you’re doing it again.” “can’t help it,” he says, smiling softly. “my hands remember you.”
night deepens. air swirls gently, brushing your cheek like warm tide. he whispers your name in slow, looping cadence, voice soft as drifting ink.
“stay near,” he breathes. “i spin apart without you.”
you fall asleep with his hand circling your waist, spiral devotion wrapping around you like warm, inevitable fate.
KIM JUHOON ／ TOMIE KAWAKAMI
juhoon glows with unreal softness, beauty drifting through rooms like warm shimmer. air shifts around him, brushing your skin with faint static, almost affectionate.
eyes follow him everywhere he goes, but his gaze stays fixed on you, slow, honey‑warm, dangerous in sweetest way.
morning light kisses his cheek, turning skin into soft porcelain glow. he leans over you, hair falling like silk curtains. “awake?” voice low, velvet‑smooth.
you nod, brushing a strand away. it falls back instantly, perfect again. “you’re glowing,” you whisper. “only near you,” he murmurs, lips curving into slow, impossible smile.
reflections catch him twice sometimes—one beside you, one behind you—both smiling same soft smile. you blink, and only one remains.
juhoon pretends not to notice your shiver. he touches your jaw with warm fingertips. “don’t look away,” he says gently. “i stay real when you look at me.”
afternoon brings glossy calm. he sits close, thigh pressed to yours, breath warm on your neck. strangers stare from across room, eyes wide, almost fearful. juhoon tilts his head, amused.
“they always stare,” he says softly. “because you’re…” “pretty?” he finishes, smirking. “curse, gift, same thing.”
jealousy comes as faint chill brushing your collarbone. not harsh, just icy kiss of warning. he steps closer, fingers sliding around your waist.
“stay near,” he whispers. “i don’t like when eyes linger on you.”
evening settles with warm glow around his silhouette, almost halo‑like. he curls into your lap, hair brushing your jaw, hands clutching your shirt with quiet desperation.
“you’ll stay tonight?” voice barely above breath. “of course.” he exhales, relief softening every line of his face. “good. i fall apart when you’re far.”
night deepens. air hums with faint echo of his voice, drifting like silk thread. he presses forehead to yours, lips brushing your cheek.
“i come back prettier every time,” he whispers, “but i only want you to see me.”
you fall asleep with his breath warm on your collarbone, impossible beauty melting into fragile boy who clings like devotion itself.
MARTIN EDWARDS PARK ／ HANGING BALLONS
martin carries moods in air around him, soft currents brushing past your skin whenever he walks close. longing drifts like pale wind tapping on windows, gentle but persistent, as if air itself misses you when he steps away.
lights hum when worry rises in his chest, warm glow brightens when joy blooms behind his ribs. he tries to hide it, but air always gives him away.
morning arrives with faint swirl curling around your pillow. martin sits near you, hair falling over his eyes, voice hushed. “felt you shifting in sleep,” he murmurs. you reach for his hand, warmth blooming instantly.
“i’m here now,” you whisper. martin exhales, shoulders loosening. “good. air gets loud when you drift.”
kitchen fills with gentle drafts circling his arms. steam rises in shapes almost resembling his face, soft and round, eyes full of quiet ache. he watches cup for a moment, then glances at you.
“it keeps copying me,” he says, voice small. “does it bother you?” “only when you’re far,” he admits, gaze dropping.
afternoon brings rhythmic tapping on windows, almost heartbeat‑like. martin stands behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
“wind keeps calling,” he whispers. “calling for what?” “you,” he breathes, tightening his hold.
mirror catches faint balloon‑echo behind him—soft shape with his face, floating gently, eyes fixed on you with same tender longing. you blink, and echo fades. martin stiffens slightly.
“you saw it, right?”
“maybe,” you whisper. he swallows. “shows up when i miss you too much. can’t control it.”
evening settles with warm hush. martin curls against you on couch, breath brushing your collarbone, fingers tangled with yours. air stills completely, like world pauses around him.
“stay close tonight,” he murmurs. “i will.” he presses closer, voice trembling with relief. “good. quiet feels nicer with you near.”
night deepens. faint breeze brushes your cheek even with windows closed.
martin sleeps curled against your chest, arms wrapped tight, air finally calm, longing softened into warm, steady devotion.
EOM SEONGHYEON ／ GYO
seonghyeon moves with strange lightness, steps barely touching floor, almost floating. air shifts around ankles when he walks, soft brush of something unseen guiding him.
fingers twitch in delicate, insect‑like patterns whenever nerves rise in his chest, movements eerie yet strangely beautiful, like choreography whispered by something beyond sight.
morning glow catches on his cheek as he stands near doorway, hair falling in soft strands. he watches you with wide, gentle eyes.
“you woke up fast,” he murmurs, voice warm but slightly breathless.
“you were staring,” you tease. he blushes, gaze dropping. “couldn’t help it. you looked… steady.”
he steps closer, but movement glitches—tiny stutter, like frame skipping. you blink, and he’s already inches from your face. breath brushes your lips.
“did i scare you?” he asks softly. “just surprised.” “sorry,” he whispers, fingers brushing your sleeve in trembling apology. “body keeps doing things before i think.”
afternoon brings faint clicking from his hands, soft mechanical rhythm hidden under skin. he tries to hide it, tucking fingers into sleeves, leaning into your side for comfort.
“it gets louder when i’m nervous,” he admits.
“nervous about what?”
“losing you,” he says, voice barely audible.
he reaches for your hand, grip warm, grounding. twitching stops instantly, as if your touch resets something inside him. he exhales, shoulders relaxing. “see? you fix it,” he whispers.
evening paints long shadows across walls. seonghyeon sits beside you, knees touching yours, head resting on your shoulder. movement stays soft now, gentle, human. “stay close tonight,” he murmurs.
“i’m right here.” he smiles, small and shy. “good. everything feels normal when you’re near.”
night deepens. faint clicking echoes from hallway, distant, rhythmic. seonghyeon stiffens, fingers tightening around yours. “ignore it,” he whispers.
“just… hold me.” you pull him close, arms wrapping around warm body. twitching fades, breath steadies, softness returns.
he falls asleep against your chest, movement finally quiet, devotion settling like warm hush over both of you.
AHN KEONHO ／ LOVESICKNESS
keonho carries beauty that feels ancient, soft glow drifting around him like pale fog. eyes linger on him wherever he walks, caught between awe and fear, as if something inside his face pulls at hearts without permission.
he shrinks from attention, shoulders curling inward, gaze searching for you like safe harbor.
morning light brushes across his cheek, turning skin into faint rose‑gold shimmer. he stands near window, hoodie half‑zipped, fingers fidgeting with drawstrings.
“you woke up before me,” he murmurs, voice low, almost shy. “only by a little,” you say. he steps closer, fog brushing your skin. “felt empty without you breathing near me.”
his eyes meet yours, and chest tightens—gentle ache, gravity shifting inside ribs. he notices instantly.
“there it is again,” he whispers. “that pull.” “it’s fine,” you breathe. “i don’t want it hurting you,” he says, brushing your wrist with trembling fingers.
afternoon glow clings to him like soft mist. strangers stare from distance, breath catching, steps slowing. keonho presses closer, voice barely above whisper.
“don’t look at them,” he says. “i’m not.” he exhales, relief softening his shoulders. “good. i only want your eyes.”
mirror catches faint shimmer behind him—echo of his face, softer, sadder, eyes full of longing. keonho follows your gaze, jaw tightening.
“it showed up again?”
“just for a second.” he swallows.
“comes out when i feel too much. can’t hide it.”
evening settles with pale mist curling around his hands. he sits beside you, knees touching yours, head leaning lightly against your shoulder.
“stay close tonight,” he murmurs. “i’m right here.” his fingers curl around yours, grip warm, desperate.
“don’t fade on me.”
night deepens. fog softens into warm hush. keonho curls against your chest, breath steady, lashes brushing your collarbone.
cursed beauty melts into quiet boy who clings like fate wrapped in silk.
night air sits warm around you, soft and syrupy, carrying faint hums from distant streetlights. porch light above you flickers in that tired, familiar way, casting a hazy glow over chipped paint and worn steps.
you sit curled up, baby‑tee hugging your shoulders, denim skirt brushing your thighs, vanilla lotion clinging to your skin like a memory you never outgrew.
quiet settles across block until low purr of a ’96 lexus gs glides into view, slow and smooth, bass humming like a heartbeat you once knew by sound alone. silver‑blue sparkles drift across humid air, catching on breeze like night is holding its breath just for him.
james steps out.
silk shirt open just enough to show sun-kissed skin. chain glinting under streetlamp. silky hair falling into his pretty eyes in that soft, practiced way that makes you wonder if he checked mirror twice before coming here.
he looks like he walked straight out of late‑night music countdowns, all glossy edges and slow‑jam sweetness. he stops at bottom step, hands tucked in pockets, voice low and warm as summer dusk.
“girl… you really gon’ keep slippin’ away from me like this?”
you stare at your hands, fingers twisting. “you ain’t same boy who used to sing to me on swings.”
james lets out slow breath, shoulders dropping like he’s been carrying weight of unsaid things for years. he climbs one step, then another, until he’s close enough for air between you to buzz.
“i’m still him,” he murmurs, voice soft as worn cotton. “i just grew into pieces you always said i had.”
you shake your head, words barely a whisper. “you a superstar now. you don’t need me.”
he turns toward you, eyes gentle, steady, shining with something you tried to outrun.
silver sparkles drift across quiet porch air as james leans against railing, silk shirt catching faint glow from flickering bulb. warm night breeze brushes curls across his forehead.
he watches you with that soft, steady gaze he never lost.
“girl… i swear i ain’t tryin’ to shine without you,” he murmurs, voice low, warm, carrying slow‑jam sweetness.
he shakes his head, smile small, tender. “you always been my calm. my quiet. my home.”
silver sparkles settle on his chain as he reaches for your hand, touch gentle, careful, like he’s afraid to rush moment.
“you only thing that ever felt real. don’t say i don’t need you.”
silver sparkles drift around his face, catching on lashes like tiny falling stars.
your voice cracks. “i’m tired of runnin’, james.”
he reaches up, palm warm against your cheek, touch tender enough to make whole world quiet.
“then stay.”
you do.
he leans in slow, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll fade if he moves too fast, and his plush lips meet yours under soft porch glow—warm, sweet, familiar—like a song he’s been writing in his heart since childhood.
JUHOON ֹ ⊹ ᵎ STREETLAMP ୧ 𓈒 ֺ
night hangs warm over block, air thick with faint smell of asphalt and something fried from nearby spot. streetlamp hums above corner store sign, buzzing soft, casting hazy glow over cracked sidewalk and faded posters taped to dusty windows.
you lean against brick wall, arms folded, sneakers scuffing ground, baby‑tee and baggy jeans hugging you in all ways that feel familiar, safe.
quiet stretches long, until low rumble of black suv rolls around corner, bass line slow and heavy, like heartbeat you know too well. silver sparkles drift across humid air, catching on passing breeze, swirling lazy as car pulls up right in front of store.
door opens.
juhoon steps out.
leather jacket hanging loose over broad shoulders, bandana tied low, chain catching streetlamp glow with every small movement. voice that once cracked during middle school presentations now sits low, rough, velvet‑soft around edges.
he looks like he just walked off late‑night music video set, but eyes still carry same boy you grew up with.
he spots you, stops for half second, something raw flickering across his face.
“so you really gon’ keep avoidin’ me like this?” he asks, voice low, words rolling out slow.
you stare at ground. “you ain’t same kid who used to walk me home.”
he lets out short breath, somewhere between laugh and sigh, then steps closer, boots scraping pavement.
“i’m still him,” he says quietly. “only difference is folks know my name now.”
streetlamp hums above cracked sidewalk, silver sparkles drifting through warm night air as juhoon steps closer, leather jacket brushing against your arm. his voice sits low, rough, velvet‑soft around edges.
“don’t play like you don’t feel this pull. i feel it every damn day.”
you look away, breath catching. “you makin’ it sound easy.”
he lets out quiet laugh, not mocking, just honest. “i ain’t scared of fame. i’m scared of losin’ you.”
silver sparkles catch on his lashes as he leans in, eyes searching yours like answer been hiding there whole time.
you shake head, throat tight. “you got whole world screamin’ for you. you don’t need girl from this block.”
juhoon’s jaw flexes, eyes searching your face like answer hiding somewhere in lines he already memorized.
“world don’t know me,” he murmurs. “you do.”
silver sparkles drift between you, catching on his lashes, making eyes shine even more.
your voice cracks. “i’m tired of runnin’, ju.”
he steps right in front of you now, close enough for warmth from his body to chase away night air. hand lifts, fingers brushing along side of your face, touch gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you might break.
“then stop,” he whispers. “stay right here. with me.”
you finally look up, meeting his gaze, all those years of almost spilling over at once. walls you built start crumbling, piece by piece.
you lean in first.
his lips meet yours under buzzing streetlamp, kiss slow, deep, full of every unsent letter and unsaid word.
silver sparkles swirl around both of you, like whole block paused just to watch boy from corner and girl from same street finally stop pretending they weren’t already in love.
MARTIN ֹ ⊹ ᵎ CANDLELIT ୧ 𓈒 ֺ
warm summer air drifts through cracked window, carrying faint hums from passing cars and soft rustle of curtains brushing against each other.
candlelight flickers across worn hardwood floors, casting slow‑moving shadows that sway like they’re dancing to some quiet rhythm only martin knows. incense curls upward in thin silver ribbons, filling room with soft sweetness that settles around you like a memory.
you step inside, heart beating slow, unsure, wrapped in denim skirt and baby‑tee that still smells like coconut lotion and long afternoons spent on front lawns.
silver sparkles float lazily through dim light, catching on dust motes, drifting like tiny stars that lost their way.
martin sits cross‑legged on floor, guitar resting against his thigh, tank top clinging to warm skin. soft blond hair fall into his eyes as he looks up, gaze gentle, steady, almost shy.
“you came,” he says, voice low, warm, carrying that quiet ache you always heard in his songs long before world did.
you sit across from him, knees brushing edge of worn rug. “you different now,” you whisper, fingers tracing faded pattern beneath you.
martin strums single chord, soft and slow, like he’s testing air between you. “i ain’t different,” he murmurs. “i just grew into pieces you always said were there.”
you shake your head, breath catching. “you got whole world listenin’ to you now. you don’t need me.”
he sets guitar aside, leaning closer, candlelight painting gold across his cheekbones. silver sparkles drift between you, settling on his curls like tiny stars.
“i don’t want world,” he says softly. “i want girl who used to steal my walkman and fall asleep on my shoulder.”
soft candlelight flickers across martin’s handsome face, silver sparkles drifting through warm air as he sits, his guitar resting beside him. incense still curling upward in slow ribbons, filling room with quiet sweetness.
“i been carryin’ your name in quiet corners of my mind,” he says, voice soft, dreamy, almost shy.
you sit across from him, knees brushing edge of rug. “you always talk like you writing something.”
he smiles, small and warm. “every chord i play ends up soundin’ like you.”
silver sparkles settle on his silky hair as he reaches out, fingertips brushing your wrist, touch feather‑light.
your chest tightens, voice cracking. “i’m tired of runnin’, martin.”
he reaches out, fingertips brushing your jaw, touch gentle as summer breeze. “then don’t run,” he whispers. “stay right here.”
you lean in without thinking, forehead touching his, breath mingling in warm, candlelit air. silver sparkles swirl around you like room is holding its breath.
martin’s lips meet yours slow, tender, careful, like he’s afraid to break moment. kiss tastes like soft music, warm nights, childhood secrets you never stopped sharing.
you kiss him back, finally letting yourself fall into everything you spent years pretending you didn’t feel.
SEONGHYEON ֹ ⊹ ᵎ STUDIO ୧ 𓈒 ֺ
soft hum from old speakers fills small studio, warm air drifting through cracked window, carrying faint scent of summer rain that never fully arrived.
silver sparkles float slow across dim room, catching on blinking lights from mixing boards, settling on stacks of tapes and scribbled notes scattered across floor like forgotten constellations.
you step inside, baby‑tee brushing your waist, denim soft from years of wear, coconut lotion clinging to your skin like memory from long afternoons spent on quiet lawns.
door closes behind you with gentle click, swallowed by padded walls.
seonghyeon sits alone, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers moving across small keyboard in slow, thoughtful motions.
soft curls fall over his forehead, shadows painting gentle shapes across his cheekbones. he doesn’t turn, but something in air shifts, like he felt you before he heard you.
“you always walk in so quiet,” he murmurs, voice low, warm, carrying softness only he could hold.
you move closer, silver sparkles drifting around your ankles, settling on worn carpet. “you been busy,” you whisper. “whole city talkin’ about you.”
he presses one last key, letting note fade into warm silence before he finally looks up. eyes soft, steady, shining with something deep, something patient.
“noise don’t mean much,” he says quietly. “not when you ain’t here.”
your breath catches, chest tightening. “you ain’t same boy who used to sit next to me in homeroom.”
he shakes his head slowly, lips curving in small, shy smile. “i’m still him,” he says. “just… louder on outside. still quiet on inside.”
silver sparkles drift between you, settling on his lashes, making eyes glow like soft moonlight.
dim studio glows in soft blues and purples, silver‑dust shimmer drifting across blinking boards as seonghyeon turns in his chair, eyes warm, steady, quiet in way that hits deep.
“i don’t talk loud… but i feel loud when you near me,” he says, voice barely above breath.
you sit beside him, denim brushing rolling chair. “you always been quiet.”
he nods once, lips curving in small smile. “quiet don’t mean empty. you always hear parts of me nobody else notices.”
silver‑blue hush settle on his cheek as he leans closer, breath warm against your skin.
your voice cracks. “i been runnin’, seong.”
he stands, steps closer, careful, gentle, like he’s approaching something fragile. hand lifts, fingertips brushing your wrist, touch feather‑light.
“you don’t gotta run,” he whispers. “not from me.”
you look up, walls trembling, breath unsteady. “i’m tired, seong.”
he leans in, forehead touching yours, breath warm, steady, grounding. “then rest here,” he murmurs. “stay with me.”
you close distance first, lips meeting his in slow, quiet kiss that feels like soft music, warm nights, and every unspoken feeling finally finding its voice.
silver sparkles swirl around both of you, settling like blessing over moment you both waited too long to reach.
KEONHO ֹ ⊹ ᵎ NEON ୧ 𓈒 ֺ
warm night air hangs over club strip, carrying soft scent of cherry gloss and faint sweetness from food truck parked down street. neon sign above entrance flickers in blue‑purple glow, painting sidewalk in dreamy colors.
silver sparkles drift slow across humid air, catching on breeze like tiny stars drifting out of rhythm.
you lean against brick wall, denim skirt brushing your thighs, baby‑tee hugging your shoulders, vanilla lotion clinging to your skin like memory from long summers. music thumps faintly from inside, bass rolling under your sneakers.
crowd spills out in bursts until sudden hush ripples across entrance. black suv pulls up, chrome rims catching neon glow. door swings open.
keonho steps out.
puffer jacket loud, chain shining bright, smile wide enough to light whole block. he looks like he just stepped out of glossy magazine spread, but eyes soften instantly when they land on you.
he jogs over, voice warm, breathless. “yo… you really out here hidin’ from me?”
you look away, arms crossing. “i ain’t hidin’. just don’t wanna be part of your scene.”
he laughs under his breath, not teasing, more like he’s trying to keep something from cracking. “my scene? girl, you been my whole scene since before i had one.”
you shake your head, voice small. “you ain’t same boy who used to split candy with me.”
his smile falters for half second, something raw flickering across his face before he masks it with playful tilt of head.
keonho steps closer, jacket rustling, moon‑washed shimmer drifting around him like they’re drawn to his warmth. “nah,” he says softly. “i’m bigger now. louder. but i swear… i still save last piece for you.”
neon lights flicker in blue‑purple glow, silver‑washed haze drifting across busy sidewalk as his expensive leather jacket loud, smile brighter than whole block. but eyes soften when on you.
“you act like i ain’t been lookin’ for you all night,” he says, voice warm, playful, hiding something tender underneath.
you cross your arms, trying not to melt. “you got whole club lookin’ for you.”
he shakes his head, grin fading into something softer. “i ain’t tryna impress world. i’m tryna impress you.”
silver sparkles swirl around him as he steps closer, breath brushing your cheek.
your breath catches. “you got crowds screamin’ your name. you don’t need girl from this block.”
he tilts his head, eyes narrowing just a little, voice dropping low. “crowds don’t know me. they know songs. you know me.”
you swallow hard, walls trembling. “i’m tired of runnin’, keon.”
he reaches out, fingertips brushing your chin, touch gentle, careful. “then don’t run,” he whispers. “just walk toward me. that’s all i ever wanted.”
starlight dust swirl around both of you as you lift your face, breath unsteady. you lean in first, lips meeting his in warm, eager kiss that tastes like summer nights, stolen candy, and every feeling you tried to bury.
keonho kisses you back like he’s been waiting years, hands soft, heart loud, whole world fading into neon glow around you.
facial hair had always seemed unkempt to you. prickly at best, unsanitary at worst. you used to wrinkle your nose at the thought of the sharp hairs scraping against your skin, already imagining the irritation and discomfort.
which is why you and sunghoon were a match made in heaven.
sunghoon hated it too. maybe even more than you.
you'd perch on the bathroom counter some warm mornings, watching him meticulously drag a careful blade across his shaving cream-coated jaw. you'd listen to him ramble, explaining how itchy it could get when it eventually grew back in uneven spurts. he was a diligent man when it came to the job—always clean shaven with no hair in sight.
come to think of it, you weren't even sure if you ever saw him with much stubble either.
until tonight.
you both were curled up on the plush couch, the cushions sinking from the weight of you two pressed together. your back lay comfortably against his chest, his strong arms draping lazily over your waist. the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the television and the faint hum of the fan overhead. his body seemed to fit perfectly against yours, like it truly belonged in the steady comfort of your presence.
now and then, sunghoon would lean in and press a kiss to your shoulder, almost absentmindedly.
and each time, you felt it.
the light brush of his stubble grazing against your smooth skin.
you braced yourself for the usual instinctive recoil. but instead of the familiar feeling, your heart skipped a beat.
it wasn't unpleasant at all. it was almost grounding, a familiar warmth pooling deep in your stomach, the way it always did around him.
sunghoon didn't seem to notice the shift, though. instead, he kept pressing lazy kisses along your neck, your arm, and the curve beneath your ear. with his lips busy, his thumb didn't stray from rubbing tranquilizing circles against your hip bone, soothing your initial thoughts.
"wish i could stay like this with you every day," he muttered, nose buried in your hair.
the corners of your lips curved into a soft smile at his sleepy confession, keeping your gaze trained on the show in front of you. "me too. no one warned us about how much adult life sucks."
he groaned softly at the reminder. "god, yes. work, chores, finances. it's a never-ending demand."
he let his head fall against your shoulder, and you felt your body stiffen. this time, it wasn't a fleeting feeling. you actually felt his stubble fully on your skin.
"nights like this keep me sane," he continued quietly. "sometimes, i forget to shave in the morning. too many things on my mind recently."
"i've noticed."
he lifted his head slightly. "yeah? sorry, babe. i know how much you hate it. i promise, i'll shave first thing tomorrow."
"i like it."
the words slipped out before you could second guess yourself, and the moment you said it, you felt a heat creeping up your neck.
there was an uncomfortable silence that filled the room before sunghoon's voice rang out hesitantly.
"what?"
you swallowed down your pride, continuing, "you don't have to shave this week. i don't mind." your fingers curled around his forearm like you were trying to physically anchor yourself. "actually... i like the way it feels. your stubble."
after a beat of silence, you felt his slow smile brushing against the shell of your ear.
"yeah?" his voice dropped, curiosity laced in his soft tone.
he tilted his head deliberately, dragging his jaw lightly along the side of your neck. the soft scrape sent a shiver straight down your spine, pulling a quiet gasp from your lips.
"so i wasn't imagining things when you didn't pull away earlier," he murmured.
you shook your head, "it surprised me in a good way."
he chuckled at that, a low, pleased sound, before his teeth lightly nipped at your earlobe. this time, you leaned into it, tilting your head to give him better access.
"show me what you like about it, then," he teased.
you turned in his arms, catching his lips with yours.
your lips pressed against his shyly, almost like you couldn't believe how bold you were being in the moment. sunghoon didn't let you read too much into it before leaning into your mouth with a smile, deepening it slowly.
his hand slid down to your waist as he guided you onto your back, hovering over you with his knees planted at your sides.
his chin brushes against yours intentionally, the bristly hair grazing your face. and instead of flinching, you reached up, cupping his jaw to hold him there.
the kiss turned molten in that very moment. sunghoon groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating from where your mouths met. he let you feel every drag of those rough, short hairs. along your cheek, down the column of your throat, until he was nosing beneath the loose neckline of your shirt.
"you really like this, huh?" he hummed against your collarbone, tone thick with satisfaction. "my pretty girl getting wet just from my stubble scratching you up a lil?"
heat flooded your face, but you didn't deny his accusation. rather, you arched when he nosed the soft swell of your breasts, letting the coarse texture catch on delicate skin.
he took his time peeling the fabric up and over your head, letting it carelessly land on the floor. cool air hit your stomach, but it was immediately chased away by the lazy trail of kisses moving downwards. every few inches, he paused to let the stubble do the real work. the hairs dragged over the underside of your breasts, your ribcage, and then quivered below your navel.
you were already squirming by the time he hooked two fingers into the waistband of your shorts.
"lift your hips, baby."
you obeyed, letting him drag the garment down your legs along with your panties in one simple motion. he settled between your legs, broad shoulders spreading you open.
his gaze carried a heaviness that made you tremble.
then he leaned in, dragging his tongue flat against your slit in one savoring stroke.
the first real press of stubble came right after, grazing the soft skin of your inner thigh.
your hips jolted, head leaning back into the couch.
he did it again, unhurried. scraping the short bristles along the crease where thigh met a bundle of nerves, then turning his head so the other side of his jaw caught the opposite thigh in equal treatment. the velvet feeling of his tongue flicking against your clit and his coarse hair rasping against sensitive skin made your breath hitch into something close to a whimper.
sunghoon hummed in approval, the vibration traveling straight through you.
"love hearing you moan like that," he muttered, lips brushing your folds as he spoke. "love feeling you shake under me when i do this."
he turned his face and dragged his stubble in a filthy line up your thigh again before immediately soothing the tingling trail with a wide lick. back and forth. licking and scratching until your thighs were trembling and your fingers were tugging at the strands in his hair.
when he finally sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked gently, the contrast was almost devastating. soft lips and a skilled tongue working you in perfect circles while his cheeks and chin scuff rhythmically against your inner thighs with every movement of his head.
"hoonie—fuck—your face—"
he pulled back just enough to let you see how shiny his lips were and how blown his pupils had gone.
"yeah?" he rasped. "gonna cum on my tongue while my stubble marks up these pretty thighs?"
you nodded frantically, words lost between gasps.
a slow, filthy smile spread on his lips before burying his face into your core again.
this time, he didn't tease.
he ate you out like he was starving, nose nudging your clit between long drags of his tongue, cheeks hollowing, stubble dragging with every tilt of his jaw. the sensation was sinful, your back bowing off the cushions and your thighs clamping against his ears.
you came with his name leaving your lips, fingers yanking at his hair, and hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth with the delicious burn of his unshaven jaw.
sunghoon crawled back up your body, kissing every mark he left until he reached your mouth.
you tasted yourself on his tongue, sighing into him.
"still like it?" he whispered against the corner of your mouth, voice tender despite the way his hard cock pressed against your thigh.
you reached between your bodies, palming him through his sweats until he hissed.
"love it." you breathed. "love you."
his forehead dropped against yours, eyes fluttering shut.
"fuck, baby..."
he kissed you again, slow and deep, stubble catching just enough to remind you how this all started.
and when he finally pushed inside you minutes later, hips slowly rocking you into the couch, you thought maybe you'd never ask him to shave again.
the beautiful boy who multiplies… but only for you
James is the kind of beautiful that feels engineered rather than born—glossy hair that falls in perfect waves, eyes that shimmer with a soft, dangerous charm, and a smile that could convince a ghost to blush. People fall for him instantly, helplessly, as if his presence rewrites their instincts.
But unlike Tomie, who thrives on chaos, James’s allure is strangely gentle; he doesn’t seduce with cruelty but with warmth, softness, and a sweetness that feels almost medicinal. And yet, beneath that sweetness, something impossible stirs— a shimmer in the air, a doubling at the edge of your vision, a sense that one James is never the whole story.
His duplicates don’t appear violently or dramatically; they bloom quietly, like reflections stepping out of mirrors. One James is laughing with friends, and another is leaning against a wall watching you with a soft, knowing smile. A third might be sitting on a rooftop, humming a tune only you recognize.
They don’t fight each other, don’t compete, don’t fracture into jealousy. Instead, they move with eerie synchronicity, sharing glances, finishing each other’s sentences, orbiting you like a constellation of boys who all believe they’re the original.
And the strangest part is that each one feels real—warm skin, beating heart, breath that fogs the air—as if the universe keeps printing him because one version isn’t enough to hold everything he feels for you.
When you realize the duplicates aren’t identical. One James is shy, stumbling over his words when you look at him too long. Another is bold, leaning in close with a smirk that feels like a secret. A third is dreamy, speaking in soft metaphors about the way your presence bends the world.
They’re fragments of a whole—emotions split into bodies, each one carrying a different facet of his obsession. And when they gather around you, it feels like standing in the center of a prism, surrounded by every possible version of the same boy, all of them wanting you in their own way.
People around you start whispering. They swear they’ve seen James in places he couldn’t possibly be—the library, the train station, the rooftop of the old school building—all at the same time. They say he’s too perfect, too consistent, too luminous.
But when you confront him, he only tilts his head with that soft, devastating smile and says, “I don’t multiply to survive. I multiply because one of me isn’t enough to love you properly.”
And the real twist? You can’t tell which James said it. They all look at you with the same adoration—and you realize they’re not copies. They’re evolutions. Each one becoming more perfect for you than the last.
JUHOON ꩜｡ THE BOY WHO STEALS MEMOIRS ⋆˚࿔
a quiet archivist who gathers memoirs the way others gather flowers
Juhoon carries an old leather notebook that looks like it has lived a hundred years before him, its edges softened by time and its pages filled with a script so elegant it feels almost ceremonial. People assume he journals his own life, but the truth is stranger: he writes down the memories of others, collecting them with the same gentle care someone might use to press petals between pages.
He listens with a softness that disarms, his gaze warm and steady, and before anyone realizes it, they’ve given him a story they didn’t mean to share—and later, they find that the memory has slipped from their mind like water through fingers.
He never forces anything; his presence is simply soothing in a way that makes people open themselves without noticing. When someone speaks to him, the world seems to quiet around them, as if the air itself leans in to hear.
Afterward, they walk away feeling lighter, relieved, unaware that the relief comes from the absence of something they once held dear. Juhoon, meanwhile, writes with a serene concentration, capturing every detail—the emotion, the color, the breath between words—as though he’s preserving something fragile and irreplaceable.
With you, though, something shifts. The first time he sees you, he freezes mid‑movement, pen hovering above the page as if your presence interrupts the laws that govern his strange little world. You feel a faint tug inside your chest, subtle but unmistakable, like a thread being gently drawn toward him.
Later, you realize you can’t recall what you were thinking about when you met him, though he remembers it perfectly. He writes it down with a reverence that borders on devotion, as if your thoughts are sacred artifacts he’s been waiting his whole life to archive.
He becomes quietly obsessed, not in a loud or frightening way, but in a manner so tender it feels almost like affection. He follows you at a respectful distance, always close enough to hear your voice, always far enough to pretend he isn’t following at all.
Every time you laugh, he captures the sound in words; every time you sigh, he records the weight of it; every time your eyes meet his, he writes it down like a prayer. You begin forgetting small things—the taste of a favorite drink, the ending of a book, the reason you walked into a room—and Juhoon remembers all of it, keeping your lost pieces safe inside his notebook.
One evening, he finally confesses, voice trembling with sincerity: “I don’t want to steal from you. I just want to keep the parts of you the world might lose.” And when he opens his notebook, every page is filled with you—your moments, your thoughts, your almosts—preserved in ink that will never fade.
MARTIN ꩜｡ THE BOY AND HIS REFLECTIONS ⋆˚࿔
the one whose mirrors love him too much… and hate you even more
Martin has always been beautiful in a quiet, unassuming way — the kind of beauty that doesn’t demand attention but steals it anyway. His features are soft, symmetrical, almost delicate, and when he smiles, it feels like the world exhales. But mirrors notice him more intensely than people do.
They linger on him, hold him a fraction longer than physics should allow, and sometimes, when he turns away, his reflection doesn’t follow immediately. It stays, watching him with a strange, hungry fondness, as if the glass itself has fallen in love with him.
At first, he thinks he’s imagining it. He blames exhaustion, bad lighting, tricks of the eye. But the reflections grow bolder. They tilt their heads when he doesn’t. They smile when he’s expressionless. They look at you instead of him.
When he stands beside you, the mirror-Martin’s gaze slides past his own shoulder and lands on you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. It’s not malicious —not exactly—but it’s possessive in a way that feels older than either of you, like the reflections believe you belong to them, not to the boy standing in front of the glass.
Martin becomes terrified of reflective surfaces, but he hides it well. He jokes about it, brushing off the unease with a crooked grin, though his hands tremble when he passes a window at night. He starts avoiding bathrooms with mirrors, covering the ones in his room with sheets, and walking with his head down when he passes storefront glass.
But the reflections don’t need mirrors anymore. They appear in puddles, in polished metal, in the dark shine of someone’s eyes. They follow him everywhere, always a half-second behind, always watching you with that same unsettling devotion.
The worst part is that the reflections aren’t hostile toward Martin. They adore him. They mimic him lovingly, almost protectively, as if they believe they’re the real version and he’s the fragile imitation.
But when it comes to you, their affection curdles into something sharp. They glare when you touch him. They smirk when he looks away. They whisper things you can’t quite hear, but you feel the intent—they want you to step closer to the glass, to lean in, to let them pull you into their world where Martin is theirs alone.
One evening, Martin finally breaks. He stands in front of a mirror he can’t avoid, fists clenched, voice shaking as he says, “Stop looking at them. Look at me.” And for the first time, the reflection obeys—but not in the way he expects. It smiles, slow and triumphant, and whispers back, “We are.” Then its eyes slide to you.
SEONGHYEON ꩜｡ THE BOY HELD BY THREADS ⋆˚࿔
the gentle one whose every movement belongs to something unseen
Seonghyeon has always moved with a strange, delicate grace—the kind that makes people think he’s simply shy or soft-spoken, unaware that something far stranger shapes the way he walks through the world.
His gestures are smooth but slightly delayed, as if he’s listening to instructions only he can hear. When he turns his head, there’s a faint tension in the air, like invisible strings pulling taut. Most people never notice, but you do.
You see the way his shoulders twitch when he tries to move too quickly, the way his fingers tremble when he reaches for something he wasn’t “supposed” to touch, the way his smile flickers like a candle fighting a draft. He looks like a boy trying to be free inside a body that isn’t entirely his.
The threads aren’t visible at first—only implied in the way he pauses before taking a step, as though waiting for permission. But the more time you spend with him, the more the world around him begins to warp.
Shadows stretch toward his limbs. Dust motes hang in the air like suspended marionette strings. When he stands in sunlight, faint glimmers outline his wrists and collarbones, shimmering like spider silk.
He pretends not to notice, but you catch the way he winces when he moves against the pull, as if the threads tighten whenever he tries to act on his own desires. And yet, whenever you’re near, he pushes against them anyway.
He apologizes constantly, voice soft and breathy, as though he’s afraid of startling the forces that control him. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to get this close,” he murmurs, even as he inches nearer, drawn to you by something stronger than the strings that bind him.
The threads tremble violently when he touches you, vibrating with a warning you can almost hear—a low, humming tension that makes the air feel electric. But he doesn’t pull away. His fingers curl around yours with a desperation that feels both fragile and defiant, like a boy choosing you over the fate that puppeteers him.
The more he resists, the more the threads reveal themselves. They shimmer faintly in the corners of your vision, stretching from his body into the empty air, disappearing into places no human hand could reach.
Sometimes they tug him backward, forcing him to stumble away from you with a pained expression, as if the world itself is trying to reclaim him. Other times they coil around his ankles, preventing him from stepping forward even when he’s reaching for you with pleading eyes.
But the strangest moments are when the threads move on their own—tightening, loosening, twitching—as though reacting to your presence, as though they’re aware of you.
One night, when the moonlight hits him just right, you finally see the threads clearly—dozens of them, thin as hair and glowing faintly, wrapped around his limbs like a celestial marionette. He looks at you with a trembling smile and whispers, “I think… they’re afraid you’ll cut them.” And for the first time, the threads pull him closer instead of away.
KEONHO ꩜｡ THE BOY WHO TRAPPED THE WORLD IN HIS DREAM ⋆˚࿔
the soft sleeper whose imagination swallowed reality whole
Keonho has always been a quiet dreamer—the kind of boy who drifts through life with a gentle smile, eyes half‑lidded as if he’s listening to a song no one else can hear.
People think he’s simply absent‑minded, lost in thought, but the truth is far stranger: one night, years ago, he fell asleep so deeply that the boundary between his dreams and the waking world dissolved.
Ever since, reality bends around him like soft clay, reshaping itself to match the shifting landscapes of his subconscious. Streets loop back on themselves, clocks stutter, colors brighten or dim depending on his mood. And no one notices except you—the one thing in his dream that feels too vivid, too solid, too real.
The world around him behaves like a half‑finished sketch, lines blurring at the edges, buildings flickering between shapes, shadows stretching into impossible angles. When Keonho is calm, everything feels warm and hazy, like a summer afternoon preserved in amber.
But when he’s anxious, the sky ripples like disturbed water, and the ground seems to breathe beneath your feet. He apologizes constantly, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, saying things like, “Sorry… I didn’t mean to make the hallway longer,” or “I didn’t realize the sun was supposed to set yet.”
He treats the distortion like an embarrassing habit, unaware of how terrifyingly beautiful it is to watch the world rearrange itself around him.
You begin to notice that the dream reacts to you specifically. When you laugh, the air sparkles faintly, as if dust motes have turned to glitter. When you’re sad, the clouds gather low and heavy, humming with a soft, sympathetic vibration.
And when Keonho looks at you—really looks—the entire world seems to hold its breath. Buildings straighten. Colors sharpen. Time steadies. It’s as if his dream recognizes you as an anchor, a fixed point in a universe that otherwise refuses to stay still. He doesn’t understand it, but he feels it deeply, whispering, “You make everything clearer. I don’t know why.”
The deeper you fall into his orbit, the more the dream tightens around you. People you know begin repeating conversations, stuck in loops like NPCs waiting for new instructions.
Roads lead to places that shouldn’t exist—a childhood park that was torn down years ago, a café you visited once in a different city, a beach you’ve only ever seen in photos. Keonho’s subconscious is stitching together every memory he’s ever had, every desire he’s ever felt, weaving them into a world designed to keep you close.
And the strangest part is that he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. He thinks the world has always been this way.
One evening, as the sky melts into a surreal gradient of colors no human language can name, Keonho looks at you with a trembling smile and says, “I’m scared to wake up. What if you’re not there?” And the dream shivers—as if the world itself is terrified of losing you too.
𑄹 ˙ ͏mírah’s whispers .ᐟ ₊ . . . i should have lowkey have saved this for halloween 🥴
스루 ܃ a quick jungwon drabble cause we love him sm ^_^ !!!
reb𝑙ogs ꪆৎ 𝑓eedbacks 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾
jungwon has been quiet ever since you both left the party.
all the way from the party to your home, he hasn't uttered a single word, just stealing quiet glances at you. his hand resting lightly against the small of your back as he walked beside you. his silence wasn’t cold, but thoughtful—heavy with something unspoken. his fingers occasionally flexed, as if restraining the urge to hold you tighter.
when you reach your apartment, he follows you inside, shutting the door behind him with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes lingers on you, dark and unreadable, but the tension in his posture is unmistakable.
a soft sigh leaves your mouth, as you lean against the wall, “are you still thinking about that guy, ‘won?”
jungwon’s lips press into a thin line before he exhales through his nose, stepping closer, “thinking about him? not at all,” he murmurs, his voice smoother now with a teasing undertone, he smirks, “i always only think about you, princess.”
you cross your arms, as if it will cover up for your beating heart. “that guy was just being friendly, jungwon.”
jungwon’s muscles visibly flex under his black shirt as he grits his jaw. his brows lift slightly, amusement flickering across his face, yet a distinct sharpness behind it. “really, what is that? i think he was clearly trying to cross boundaries,” he tilts his head, taking a step closer to you, “did you like it?”
you breathe hitches from the intensity of his gaze and the drunken loveliness of his eyes, “jungwon—”
he is swift enough to cut you short in your incoherent sentence, by placing his hands on either side of your head against the walls. and that’s when you realise your back has met the cold wall.
he isn’t angry or jealous, not exactly. but there is a quiet intensity in the way he looks at you, like he needs to remind you—remind himself—that this thing between you is real, raw, undeniable. jungwon knew the consequences of having a pretty girlfriend, of course boys were going to hit on her and flirt with her, trying to steal you away. but he didn’t mind any of it, his confidence in your loyalty stayed strong.
although tonight was different. the way that guy invaded your proximity ticked a radar off in yang jungwon— until he couldn’t take it anymore.
you’re only his to touch.
“hmm?” he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing past your cheeks, “jungwon what?”
“you don’t have to be jealous, you know,” you sigh, your breath hitching once again.
jungwon finally leans in, until his cologne hits stronger in the air, mingled with his hot breath falling over your neck.
his fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your chin up with a touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine. “i know you,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate. “you weren’t interested in him. but still, seeing someone else act like they could have you?” his thumb traces the corner of your lip, lingering, before his fingers slid lower, ghosting over your pulse. “i didn’t like that.”
your lips part slightly, and that’s all it takes.
jungwon immediately leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was unhurried and intense. it isn’t rough or rushed—just deep, deliberate. his hands find your waist, fingers spread over the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath, palms warm against your skin. he kisses you like he has all the time in the world, savoring, making sure you feel every bit of his presence, his need.
you melt into him, fingers sliding into his hair, and the quiet sigh you let out had him pressing closer, his body molding against yours. he deepens the kiss, his lips brushing against yours in a way that sends warmth pooling in your stomach. when he pulls back slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, he lets out a soft chuckle, his breath warm against your skin.
“i don’t have to be jealous,” he whispers, eyes never leaving yours, “i already know you’re mine.”
your chest rose and fell with the weight of his words, his touch. “you sound so sure.”
his smile is slow, confident. “i don’t have to sound sure.” his lips ghost over yours again, teasing, coaxing. “i just know.”
he giggles into another kiss as your hand flies to cup his cheeks, well you back, you squeeze them together, cooing, “jealousy does look cute on you, love.”
f!rea ❤︎ 483% overstim dry humping praising ৲ he's soo needy for you! ◜ᯅ◝ MDNI
the moonlight spills through the curtains, cutting shadows across the sheets. jungwon kneels before you, pupils blown wide, bottom lip quivering, and beads of sweat collecting on the hollow of his collarbone. his fingers hover on your thighs, hesitant.
he's wearing nothing but some thin cotton sleep pants, the outline of his cock painfully emphasized by a shameful bloom of precum on the fabric.
your gaze strayed towards the desperate look in his eyes, legs parted just enough for him to slot between them.
"yn, please..." he whispers pathetically, voice raw with barely concealed desire. "i need—"
"no." the denial was firm, leaving no room for interpretation. you cup his face with your hand, thumb stroking the line of his jaw. his hips instinctively jerk forward at the touch, a broken whimper slipping out.
"you'll cum like this, or not at all."
you watched his eyebrows furrow in a display of frustration, mouth agape and ready to protest before the words died in his throat, nodding obediently. hands now gripping your hips, jungwon rocks forward, dragging his rock hard length along the seams of his shorts. cotton on cotton, the friction was unbearable but it satiated his craving.
you feel every throb, every twitch through the layers, listening to the string of needy noises leave his lips with every soft thrust.
"good boy." you praised, fingers curling against his waist to guide his movements. "slow. just like that."
poor jungwon tries so hard to obey, but his control is unraveling embarrassingly fast! his thighs shake in an effort of holding back, breath hitching every time the head of his cock catches on the ridges of your shorts.
you smelled so sweet. everything about you seemed to heighten his senses, and he was hooked. the moment your thighs tighten around his hip, it's too much, too fast.
your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, breath warm against his skin.
"you're gonna ruin your pants, baby."
and that was the final straw.
his hips stuttered before slamming forward, grinding desperately against your clothed core. jungwon mewls pitifully; overstimulated was an understatment.
"yn, too much-! m'gonna make a mess-" he cries out, fingers tightening their grip on your hips.
you hum, every soft moan music to your ears. "gonna make a mess, baby? do it. ruin those cute pants for me."
a choked sob tears out of him as he cums hard, coating the front of his pants in thick, warm pulses. he buries his head in the crook of your neck, holding onto you like you were the very anchor keeping him from falling apart.
your nails scratch his back lazily, watching jungwon catch his breath while the fresh aftershock rippled through his body.
"there you go," you coo, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. "look at you, such a mess for me, hmm?"
yousharknotpass
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